It's the Life We're Living Now
by poetzproblem
Summary: Kids are wonderful. But they're expensive. And they need a lot of attention. And things. Kids need things—like food and clothes and toys and doctors and medicine and space and education and patience and at least eighteen years of constant care and devotion. Number 30 in the Don't Blink series.
1. Waiting For Our Words To Be In Line

**Author's Note:** The one where they talk about babies a lot. Generally set after _My Friends They Are So Beautiful_ and before _Forget the Wrong That I've Done_ , but the first part is a series of vignettes spanning the years from friendship to marriage.

As always, thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being an awesome beta.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

* * *

 **It's the Life We're Living Now**

* * *

 _You've been looking for more, I've been over my head  
You've been filling up spaces, I'm working too much  
It's the life we're living now  
And it's beautiful, somehow  
~Superstar, Broods_

* * *

 **Part I: Waiting For Our Words To Be In Line**

* * *

It's a hot and humid day in mid-July the first time the subject comes up. They're both home for the summer after the first year at their respective colleges, and they've both come a long way from the girls that left Ohio last fall. The biggest difference in Quinn's life, of course, is that she's finally coming to terms with the fact that she's a lesbian. She's even told her mother, and while Judy Fabray isn't happy about it by any means, Quinn still has a home and a mother who loves her despite being unable to understand her supposed _choices_.

And Rachel—well, Rachel has lost about two-hundred and fifty pounds of deadweight and any plans she'd made to ever get married before the age of twenty-five. She's currently single (again, after her rebound relationship with Daniel had fizzled out right before she'd come home for break), but Quinn isn't deluding herself into thinking that she suddenly has a chance at romance with Rachel. Rachel is still very definitely looking for a leading _man_ to stand at her side, so the friendship that she and Quinn have been cultivating will have to be enough. No, Quinn has been giving her heart time to move on from its silly crush on Rachel by happily distracting herself with the semi-regular texts and emails that she's been exchanging with Kylie.

Meanwhile, Rachel seems to be actively avoiding Finn, who'd heard through the grapevine about Rachel's short relationship with Daniel and had predictably decided that they should forget the fact that he'd cheated on her and get back together now that Rachel is single and back 'home' in Lima. But—

"I just don't see myself making a life with him anymore," Rachel admits sadly, nursing her iced tea as she lounges in a chair beside Quinn's pool.

Quinn's eyes, shaded by her sunglasses, study Rachel intently—thankfully without lingering for too long on the vintage-style, red polka-dotted two-piece bathing suit she's wearing that makes her look like she'd stepped out of a 1950's teen beach movie. For her part, Quinn has opted for a modest one-piece and a wraparound sarong in an attempt to hide some of the scars that haven't yet faded as much as she'd like.

If Quinn is being honest, there's a part of her that's been expecting Rachel to fall back into the same old habit of forgiving Finn and taking him back again (and again and again) because she can't seem to live without him. After all, Rachel and Daniel had broken up primarily because she'd felt like she'd rushed into another relationship far too quickly after her breakup with Finn. Daniel had been surprisingly understanding about the whole thing—just not understanding enough to wait for Rachel.

"I can't believe he expects you to just forgive him after what he did," Quinn mutters, feeling old resentments creep to the surface. "And what does he even expect will happen once you go back to New York? He clearly didn't want to be there the first time around."

Rachel shrugs, setting her glass aside. "I think he's just really lost right now, and I'm the one thing that still feels familiar to him. Or maybe he's looking for me to…I don't know," she trails off, shaking her head, "give him some direction, I suppose."

"Like that's your responsibility," Quinn chides, disgusted all over again at Finn's lack of maturity. "He really needs to figure out his own shit," she spits, careless of the fact that she's channeling Santana.

"I know," Rachel concedes with a sigh. "I told him as much…in fairly comparable terms," she confesses guiltily, glancing down into her lap where her fingers are absently fidgeting.

Quinn lifts a hand to her sunglasses and inches the frames down her nose until she can level her unfettered gaze on Rachel over the rims. "You told him to figure out his own shit?" she asks in surprise.

A hollow laugh slips past Rachel's lips as her eyes lift back up to meet Quinn's. "I told him that he needs to grow up and figure out what he wants to do with his life on his own terms because I'm not going to be there to hold his hand anymore. That I'm tired of being the safety net he keeps falling back into every time things don't work out the way he expects." She takes another breath, glancing out over the still water of the pool. "And that I'm not in love with him anymore," she adds quietly.

"You sound like you mean that," Quinn muses, pleased to hear Rachel sound so resolved even if it won't ever translate into her suddenly falling in love with _Quinn_. She knows that Rachel has been trying to move on, but she also knows from her own experience that the heart can be pretty damned stubborn about letting go of who it wants.

"I…I feel like I do," Rachel confirms, meeting Quinn's eyes again. "I think I'll always love Finn a little bit, but…it's not the same as it was. I don't feel like I'm tied to him anymore, and when I try to imagine my future, I can't see him standing next to me. Honestly, I don't know if I can see _anyone_ there right now," she admits, taking Quinn by surprise. After all, she's been hearing bits and pieces of Rachel's life plan for a number of years now, and there's always been a leading man.

"This last year has been a revelation," Rachel continues pensively, "and I've only had a small taste of how difficult it's going to be for me to succeed in New York. How much of my time and energy I'll need to devote to pursuing a life on the stage. If my failed engagement to Finn has taught me anything, it's that I'm not ready to compromise my dreams in order to become anyone's wife," she pauses, shaking her head ruefully, "and definitely not anyone's mother." Realizing exactly what she's said, Rachel's eyes widen and she jerks her head toward Quinn, offering her a guilty smile and a regretful, "Sorry."

There's a familiar ache in Quinn's chest at the reminder of Beth—of giving her up and then throwing away any chance to be a part of her life. Oh, Shelby had done the decent thing and brought Beth to see Quinn when she'd been in the hospital after her accident, but it had only been for one, short, drugged-up visit before Shelby—reassured that Quinn wouldn't be dying anytime soon—decided to pack up and move out of Ohio for good.

Shaking off the bittersweet memories, Quinn smiles ruefully. "Don't be. I obviously wasn't ready either."

Rachel nods jerkily, dragging in an unsteady breath before she begins to chew nervously on her lower lip. Quinn recognizes the habit and wonders what's on Rachel's mind, but she doesn't have to wonder long when Rachel haltingly confesses, "You know…I…I had a pregnancy scare the month before Finn and I broke up."

Quinn doesn't breathe for a moment—her mind spinning with the new information and trying to fit it onto the timeline of Rachel's relationship with Finn, Quinn's trip to New York, and why the hell hadn't Rachel mentioned this before?!—and then Quinn is inhaling sharply and ripping her sunglasses off her face. "No, I _didn't_ know," she points out sharply.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says again, ducking her head in shame. "I should have told you, but it was really only a couple of days," she explains hastily, "and then it turned out to be nothing anyway. Thank God," she whispers, closing her eyes in remembered relief. "But until I knew for certain, I felt like I couldn't breathe," she recalls shakily, pressing her hands to her chest, and Quinn can almost feel the phantom weight of her own positive pregnancy test constricting her lungs. "Like all my dreams were crashing down around me and my life was over," Rachel continues, opening her wounded eyes and settling them on Quinn.

"Finn and I were already having problems, and I just felt so...so trapped. And I kept thinking about you," she tells Quinn quietly, "and what you went through with Beth, and _God_...how disappointed you'd be when I told you I'd thrown my life away by being stupid." Rachel cringes almost immediately, offering Quinn another remorseful look. "Sorry."

Quinn sighs, shaking her head. "Stop apologizing. I _was_ stupid."

"And I was lucky," Rachel counters immediately. "Finn and I were always doubly careful, but I was afraid I'd screwed up my birth control with the antibiotic I'd been taking for a sinus infection, and…well, condoms are hardly foolproof."

"Especially when Finn is _such_ a fool," Quinn mutters, incredibly grateful that Rachel didn't have to go through an unplanned pregnancy the way Quinn had.

Rachel frowns slightly at the dig to Finn but lets it slide without comment. "Thankfully, it turned out I was only late from the stress of school and…everything with Finn," she explains with shrug, "but for those two days when I thought I could be pregnant, I realized how much I didn't want that _at all_." A short, rueful laugh punctuates the statement, and she gazes at Quinn sadly.

"For all of the times that I'd pictured what my life would be like one day, triumphing over adversity, winning the coveted Tony-Grammy-Emmy-Oscar combination by the tender age of twenty-five, marrying my leading man, having two perfect, Jewish children…one boy and one girl, of course," she qualifies, rolling her eyes at her own youthful naiveté, "I never actually factored in that I'd be required to take time away from my career to carry and raise those children. They were always just…magically there and taken care of."

It really isn't funny, but Quinn finds herself snickering nonetheless. "Magically?" she echoes with a smirk, knowing that's exactly the kind of schoolgirl fantasy of life that Rachel would have indulged in.

A cute pout appears on Rachel's face, and she sighs dramatically. "You don't need to remind me that my goals are occasionally a tad bit unrealistic."

Quinn laughs again before pursing her lips in order to stifle her mirth. "Okay. I won't," she agrees affably.

Rachel shakes her head, sighing again—less dramatically and more resignedly. "It's just…there are so many incredibly talented people at NYADA alone, and I know that they're only a fraction of the competition I'm going to face at every audition. I need to focus on perfecting my craft so I can have a chance at winning roles and establishing a successful career, because I want the stage and Broadway and the applause more than anything else right now," she vows before turning to stare blindly at the pool once again.

Quinn's instinct is to comfort her—assure her that she's going to blow her competition out of the water and win every role she auditions for— but realistically, Quinn knows Rachel's concerns are valid. Broadway is extremely competitive, and Rachel is wise to devote her energy to learning every tool and trick and making every connection she can in order to help her make her dreams come true.

But then Rachel is quietly admitting, "I don't think I could be a good wife or mother until I can accomplish at least some of my more attainable goals, and even then, I wonder if I'll ever really be capable of sacrificing my own desires in order to put someone else's needs first." She catches her lower lip between her teeth, turning back to Quinn with wide, worried eyes. "Does that make me selfish?"

Quinn is still trying to wrap her mind around what Rachel is telling her—her apparent doubts about marriage and babies someday—but, "No," she insists without hesitation. "You're not selfish, Rachel. Maybe a little self-involved sometimes," she concedes, noticing Rachel's immediate frown, "but who isn't?" she's quick to dismiss. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to put yourself first right now. I mean, we're not even twenty yet."

They're still practically kids themselves. If not for Beth, Quinn would have never had a serious thought about motherhood for another eight to ten years at least.

Rachel's lips quirk into a half-smile. "And women are finding themselves in their thirties these days?"

Quinn chuckles at the reminder, nodding. "Exactly. To be honest, I've kind of been feeling the same way," she admits with a shrug.

She's still trying to figure herself out, and her sexuality has put an entirely new spin on old assumptions about the path her life would take. "I grew up with the expectation that I would marry some nice, Christian man that my parents approved of and have a couple of kids because that's what you do when you're married, but I'm obviously walking a very different path these days," she points out wryly, offering Rachel a self-deprecating smile. "I mean, I already gave up a baby at sixteen, and I know for certain there's no man, Christian or otherwise, in my future."

Rachel aims an annoyed expression at her. "I _know_ you know you can be a lesbian and decide to have a family, Quinn," she says disapprovingly.

"Yeah, but that's just it, Rachel. It would be me _deciding_ to get pregnant instead of passively letting it happen or not happen." And that's always the way it had played out in Quinn's mind—she'd defer to her husband on the subject, and when he decided they should start a family, they'd stop taking precautions and just let it happen. Instead, she'd just _let it happen_ with Puck, trusting him to make sure it didn't when she should have been the one making an active decision to protect herself. There's no letting anything happen with another woman. If Quinn ever decides to get pregnant again, "I would be making the deliberate choice to become a mother after…after I already gave away my firstborn daughter," she explains haltingly, hearing the way her voice catches and hating the way Rachel's face is suddenly awash in sympathy.

"And I know I was too young," Quinn adds hastily, averting her gaze from Rachel's knowing eyes as she shakes her head, "and I couldn't have taken care of her or given her the life she deserved, but that doesn't stop me from wishing that things could have been different. I have so many regrets about everything that happened with Beth, and thinking about having another child feels almost like a betrayal of her," she finally confesses.

She can never replace Beth. She knows that now—despite that brief, insane moment last year when she'd thought she could somehow.

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel coos, practically falling out of her chair to reach across the space between them and find Quinn's hand—which had stretched out to be held without Quinn's conscious consent. "It wouldn't be," Rachel assures her, squeezing her hand in a show of comfort. "I know…my saying that doesn't change the way you feel right now, but Quinn, you did the best thing you could do for your daughter given the situation you were in. You loved her enough to make sure she has a mother who can provide for her in all the ways you couldn't."

Quinn's fingers tighten around Rachel's before she lets go with a frown. "Did I?" she asks, unable to shake the doubts that she's carried with her since she'd signed away her maternal rights to Shelby Corcoran.

"Yes," Rachel answers quickly. "Despite my own complicated relationship with Shelby, I believe that she's a good mother to Beth for exactly the reason she can't be one to me." Quinn doesn't really understand how that could be possible, and her doubt obviously shows on her face if Rachel's expression is anything to go by.

"She wanted a baby that she could love and nurture from day one, and she has that in Beth," Rachel explains simply. "I know she'll make sure that Beth has everything she could ever want or need, and I truly believe that someday Beth will understand exactly what you had to sacrifice in order to make sure she had her best chance in the world and be grateful to you for the amazing life you've given her."

Quinn closes her eyes as Rachel's words wrap around her wounded heart like a salve. She wants to let herself believe in them so badly. "I really hope you're right."

"I am. I'm right remarkably often, you know," Rachel responds cheekily, instantly lightening the somber mood between them and pulling a smile from Quinn.

"Keep telling yourself that, Rachel."

"I will, because it's the truth," Rachel insists. "And so is the fact that, regardless of whether or not you eventually start a family with whatever lucky woman wins your heart," she murmurs supportively, "you're already a good mother, Quinn, because you love Beth enough to put her needs first."

Quinn still has her doubts about that, but having Rachel say it helps to chase away some of her demons—at least for a little while—so she thanks Rachel, and they do their best to keep the conversation on happier subjects for the rest of the afternoon. After all, it's summer, and they're both young and free. They have their whole lives ahead of them to figure out where they want to end up when it's all said and done.

xx

They really don't talk about it again until a few months after they start dating. There hadn't been a need through the stubborn years of just-friendship when they'd both had to watch each other find little moments of happiness with other people, and neither one of them had really cared to think too far into the futures that had been spread out before them at the time. Peter hadn't been enough to replace the stars and spotlights in Rachel's eyes with dreams of marriage and babies, and Sarah's reluctance to even meet Beth and her avoidance of children in general hadn't done much to spark any of Quinn's maternal urges.

They'd never felt the need to give voice to the fact that nothing had really changed for either of them. Well, that's not entirely true—Shelby's reappearance with Beth during Quinn's second year at Yale had helped ease the weight of guilt and regret that had been crushing Quinn since she'd given her daughter up for adoption, lightening her heart in little increments but not quite enough to erase the hesitancy Quinn feels at the thought of having another child one day and the fear of how Beth might react to it.

Not even loving Rachel and having Rachel love her in return can magically flip that switch, and there's still the worry that this might not last—that Rachel will change her mind about them or that they'll discover they were better suited to be just friends. Admittedly, that worry is lessening with every day spent with Rachel, every night curled around one another, every kiss, every _I love you,_ and every hopeful promise of forever, but it's too soon to be thinking about marriage and children. Even so, Quinn can't help selfishly wanting Rachel and Beth to be as important a part of each other's lives as they are of hers. But Shelby is being such a fucking bitch.

"Your demons are chasing you again," Rachel mumbles, snuggling closer against Quinn's side as they lie together in the aftermath of their spent passion.

Having thought that Rachel had drifted off to sleep, it takes a moment for Quinn to fully emerge from her own distant musings and come back to the present. "They're not," she denies. "I'm just…thinking."

Rachel chuckles huskily—her breath puffing against Quinn's shoulder. "There's a difference?" she challenges.

Quinn rolls her eyes, even though Rachel can't see her. "Ha ha." She won't admit just how often there isn't a difference at all.

"What are you thinking about?" Rachel prompts gently, dancing her fingers over Quinn's ribs. It feels nice.

Quinn sighs, reluctantly admitting that her mind had wandered to, "Shelby."

Rachel's hand freezes on her skin. "Well, that completely ruins my haze of post-coital bliss," she grumbles.

A short laugh escapes from Quinn before she shifts on the mattress to face Rachel, offering her an apologetic smile through the darkness. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Rachel urges in resignation. "I just thought I'd managed to successfully distract you."

"You did. Very pleasantly," Quinn promises with a small smile. "But then my mind went right back there again. I just can't believe she won't let us tell Beth we're together."

Even saying it now makes Quinn want to punch Shelby Corcoran right in her judgmental nose. It's not like she'd expected the woman to congratulate them on finally getting it right with one another or embrace her as a potential daughter-in-law—Shelby can't even fully embrace _Rachel_ as her _daughter_ —but Quinn had never expected to be threatened with being barred from Beth's life all over again. And even though Shelby has backed down a tiny bit from her initial reaction, she's hell bent on keeping Quinn's relationship with Rachel far, far away from Beth.

"Give it a little time, baby," Rachel urges, reaching out to find Quinn's hand and entwining their fingers. "Shelby was…surprised by the change in our relationship," she says tactfully, "and you have to admit…it could potentially be a little confusing for Beth to understand that her birth mother is dating her adoptive kind-of sister."

Quinn really _doesn't_ have to admit anything of the kind. "I really hate it when you say it like that," she mutters petulantly. It makes it sound vaguely incestuous when it's absolutely not.

"Well, it's unfortunately true in the most technical sense," Rachel stubbornly reiterates, "even if our individual ties with Shelby and Beth don't have any bearing on our ties to each other. Shelby _knows_ that, and I'm sure Beth will understand once it's explained to her. And it will be explained to her eventually, Quinn," she promises, giving Quinn's hand a reassuring squeeze, "because I plan for us to be together for a very long time."

Quinn's breath hitches at the sweet profession. "Is that so?" she asks softly, already knowing that a very long time with Rachel is everything she wants.

Rachel's lips curve into a teasing smile. "It is. I've designated you as my permanent leading lady, and I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with it."

Quinn can't help laughing at that. It's so typically Rachel—although the idea of her _casting_ a romantic lead for her personal life still doesn't sit particularly well with Quinn. After all, it hasn't really worked out very well for Rachel in the past, but she chooses to let it go for now, realizing that Rachel is mostly (hopefully) joking. "I'm not singing duets with you."

Rachel's eyes narrow playfully. "Yes, you will."

Probably, but, "Not in public," Quinn insists with an indulgent roll of her eyes, though she thinks she might really like singing with Rachel in private.

"We'll see," Rachel trills with a knowing grin.

She does seem to have a way of convincing Quinn to agree to things against her better judgment, and Quinn imagines that skill will only grow more refined now that they're dating. She can't even bring herself to mind it much now that she gets to enjoy the full set of benefits that comes with giving in. She's happier than she's ever been in her life—except for the one thing.

It has Quinn's faint smile slipping back into a thoughtful frown. "I just…I want us both to have a good relationship with Beth," she tells Rachel with a sense of longing, lifting their joined hands higher on the mattress between them. They're the two most important people in Quinn's life, and, "I want us to be able to spend time with her together. It's important to me."

"I know it is, baby," Rachel murmurs sympathetically. "I want that too."

"Do you?" Quinn hears herself asking before she's had a chance to really think it through. "Because you seemed pretty hesitant about spending time with Beth, and I have to wonder if a part of you isn't relieved that Shelby doesn't want her to be exposed to our relationship yet."

In fact, Rachel had been awfully quick to agree to Shelby's terms regarding Beth—content to let Quinn's visits with her daughter continue on indefinitely without her involvement.

Rachel instantly frowns, brow furrowing as she untangles their fingers and drags her hand away. "That's not entirely fair, Quinn. I've admitted that I'm nervous about the role I'll play in Beth's life, but I'm certainly not _relieved_ that Shelby reacted the way she did. I'm only afraid that Beth won't approve of me as your partner."

"She's seven. She doesn't really get a say in that," Quinn dismisses. Maybe it might make a difference if Quinn was actually raising Beth, but she isn't, and Quinn's dating life will have very little direct effect on her daughter.

Rachel huffs, and even in the darkness of the room, Quinn can clearly see her eyes roll. "You say that like a seven year-old can't throw a tantrum and decide she doesn't want to share the time she spends with her birth mother with some annoying woman who's trying too hard to be liked."

Compassion sneaks in around the edges of Quinn's disquiet, and she reaches out to place a comforting hand on Rachel's hip. "Sweetheart, Beth already _likes_ you. I've told you that."

"I know, but that doesn't magically make my fears disappear," Rachel argues, shifting restlessly on the mattress. "I don't," she begins, pausing to release a heavy sigh and averting her gaze before she confesses, "I haven't had a lot of experience with children."

Quinn can almost feel the anxiety radiating off of Rachel's body, and she draws her hand away from the unpleasant sting of disappointment. She'd thought that she'd managed to assuage Rachel's fears about her role in Beth's life before they'd told Shelby about them, but apparently she hadn't. Rachel still doesn't feel ready to spend more time with Beth, and even though she's trying to be supportive of Quinn, it's only for Quinn's sake and not because she's truly invested in having a relationship with Quinn's daughter.

It bothers her more than she can say, even knowing that it shouldn't—Rachel isn't _required_ to love Beth just because she loves Quinn. It should be enough that Rachel wants to make Quinn happy and that she's willing to step outside of her comfort zone to do it.

"Look, Rachel, I know that motherhood isn't on your immediate _to do_ list," Quinn concedes, watching Rachel's startled eyes jerk back to hers, "if it even is at all," she adds hastily, recalling the conversation they'd had years ago about motherhood in general, "but you don't have to worry about that with Beth. She already has a mother…two of them actually. You'd only have to be her friend."

Rachel holds Quinn's gaze, catching her lower lip between her teeth for a long moment before she takes a deep breath. Her throat muscles visibly flex as she swallows. "We haven't really talked about this in a while, have we?"

"Spending time with Beth?" Quinn asks in confusion. They'd talked about it only two weeks ago.

"No. The motherhood thing," Rachel clarifies with an uncertain voice, plucking at the sheets between them with nervous fingers. "I mean, I know our romantic relationship is still very new, and we're nowhere near ready to talk about marriage or children, but you're obviously still remembering what I told you back in college," she rambles, no longer meeting Quinn's eyes, "about me being…too selfish for those things."

"You're not selfish," Quinn denies automatically.

Rachel puffs out a frustrated breath. "Self-involved then."

Quinn remembers the conversation, and she also remembers making that qualification at the time. Sighing, she catches Rachel's hand again, wordlessly urging Rachel's eyes back to her. "Rachel, sweetheart, there isn't anything you want for yourself that I don't want for you just as badly. You're _not_ selfish," she repeats vehemently. "You're _ambitious_ , and I admire the hell out of that."

Someday, Rachel Berry is going to be the shiniest star to ever grace a stage or screen or concert hall, and God willing, Quinn will be proudly standing behind her, cheering her on.

"But do you see yourself wanting a family with me someday?"

The unexpected question takes Quinn by surprise, and she can't actually tell if Rachel wants her answer to be a _yes_ or a _no_. Quinn doesn't really know what her answer would be either way. "Maybe it _is_ a little soon to be talking about this," she hedges with a frown. Until now, she's only been thinking about all of this as it applies to Beth.

"Because you don't see me as a viable partner in that endeavor?" Rachel pushes, watching Quinn carefully through the darkness. "Or because you feel like having another child would somehow damage your relationship with Beth?"

Quinn exhales slowly, feeling the familiar weight of guilt and regret press down on her chest. "I guess I'm not the only one who remembers the conversation we had," she mutters.

Rachel's hand tightens around hers. "I'm only attempting to establish if anything significant has changed in the last four years, other than our relationship, of course," she qualifies. "I mean, obviously, I've not yet accomplished even a fraction of what I want to accomplish before I could even consider having a child." And that's pretty much what Quinn had suspected, but then Rachel pauses, taking a breath before she adds with some humor, "Although, until very recently, it hadn't occurred to me that I might not actually have to be the one to carry said hypothetical child."

Quinn's eyebrow arches at that. "So you definitely don't want to get pregnant, but you'd be fine with knocking _me_ up?"

"No," Rachel denies quickly. "That's not… I'm very much not ready for that kind of responsibility," she confirms resolutely. "I'm just trying to get a feel for where we both stand on the subject of motherhood in general," she explains, stroking the pad of her thumb over the back of Quinn's hand, "because I do see _you_ standing beside me when I picture my future, Quinn. I just don't know if I should be saving a space for anyone else," she admits with a shrug.

"It's _your_ picture, Rachel," Quinn reminds her in a sharper tone than she intends, but she's always had something of a love-hate (mostly hate) relationship with that picture that Rachel had painted of her perfect life. The fact that Quinn is the one pasted into it now instead of Finn Hudson or Peter Kendrick doesn't improve her overall feelings on it nearly as much as she'd expected it to.

"Yes," Rachel agrees carefully, "but right now I'm not sure that I can really bring either version of it into focus. On one hand, I know I'm not ready to be a mother and I don't know when I might be. You're right about that," she acknowledges with a regretful smile. "Right now, I feel like I could be perfectly content just being in love with you and having an amazing career with a roomful of awards."

Quinn finds herself smiling despite the seriousness of the conversation. "So it's a roomful now?"

"It's _always_ been a roomful, Quinn," Rachel confirms without missing a beat. "But on the other hand," she continues, "I think if my partner…if _you,_ " she corrects unabashedly, "wanted children…not anytime soon, mind you, but _someday_ …then I could see myself agreeing to eventually start a family."

Quinn doesn't miss all the vague conditions in Rachel's proclamation—not soon but _someday_ , she _could_ , _eventually_ ; if her partner wants it. "So…basically…you're deciding not to decide and leaving it up to me," she translates. "Or whomever you end up with," she adds with a frown—because even if Quinn is pasted into Rachel's picture right now, she's all too aware of how easily that could change if this relationship doesn't work out the way they both hope it will.

She knows Rachel is aware of it too, but it doesn't stop her from insisting, "I plan to end up with _you_ , Quinn."

Plans can change. Quinn has intimate experience with that—both for the worse and for the better. She _plans_ to do everything in her power to hold onto Rachel now that she has her, but beyond that, Quinn hasn't really nailed down all the details of where she sees herself in ten or twenty years.

"I obviously want that particular plan to succeed," Quinn confirms before sighing. "As for the rest…I honestly haven't had much of a reason to think about having more children since the last time we talked about it. Sarah was the only person I was really serious about, but she and I never got to that point in our relationship before we broke up, and I knew she wasn't all that fond of children anyway."

Quinn doesn't miss the way Rachel frowns at the mention of her ex-girlfriend, but she's not sure if it's born strictly of the long-suppressed jealousy that Quinn now knows has always been present or colored with the troubled recognition that Rachel might actually have something in common with Sarah. Quinn isn't exactly sure how she feels about the possibility that it's the latter—that all of Rachel's _maybes_ and _somedays_ might just be pretty words to cover up _probably nots_ and _nevers_ —but she's also not sure it really matters at the moment because, "It's been enough for me to have a relationship with Beth again."

Rachel nods faintly as she continues to study Quinn from across the pillow. "So you don't see yourself wanting another child?"

There's something almost hopeful in the question, and Quinn frowns at it. "I don't know," she barks out in mild irritation, wondering why Rachel keeps pushing for a definitive answer when she'd just admitted that she herself is completely undecided right now. In Quinn's mind, it can only be that Rachel is hoping for another _no_ from Quinn to let her off the hook of ever having to say _yes_ to that _maybe someday_.

Dragging in a breath, Quinn rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling as she pushes a hand through her hair. Whenever she lets herself think about having another child—going through a second pregnancy—every bad, sad, angry, hopeless, confused, panicked feeling that she'd had with Beth comes rushing back, and she doesn't know if she wants to relive all of that again. Oh, she knows it would be entirely different a second time around (and, honestly, the idea of someday having a child with Rachel has a bubble of happiness wrapping itself around all of the bad memories until they almost float away) but that's the problem. Quinn can't just decide on a redo—a chance to get it right this time—and erase what she went through with Beth. It will always be there, reaching up through any happiness to burst her bubble and remind her of what a terrible person she was for having wished her first pregnancy would just go away.

She doesn't regret _Beth—_ she couldn't _ever_ —but she regrets everything that brought Beth into being, including the stupid, scared, repressed version of herself that ever said _yes_ to Puck in the first place.

Saying _yes_ with Rachel would be something completely different, and it's hard to reconcile the happiness that would undoubtedly bring her with the pain and guilt she'll always carry over Beth.

Someday Shelby is going to tell Beth about Quinn's relationship with Rachel and let them all spend time together, and Rachel will stop being a twitchy ball of nerves and charm Beth the way she'd so thoroughly charmed Quinn, and they won't all magically become a family, but they'll be something more than what they are now.

And maybe Beth will be okay with Quinn and Rachel eventually having a family of their own.

 _Someday._

 _Maybe._

 _Eventually._

Quinn chuckles mirthlessly, as undecided as she's ever been about what she wants. "I guess…not right now," she finally admits, "but… _someday_ …if I knew Beth wouldn't be hurt by the decision…I might."

Rachel's little laugh sounds relieved, and she lays a hand over Quinn's stomach, shuffling closer to Quinn on the mattress. "So I guess we're both fairly undecided about it at the moment."

"I suppose we are," Quinn mumbles, glancing away. She feels even more unsettled now than she had when she'd only been stewing over Shelby.

"It's okay," Rachel assures her softly. "We're not even twenty-five yet. I don't think we have to be decided on every detail of our lives right now."

Quinn knows that. She does. It's too soon to be thinking about having children with Rachel—they've only been dating a few months!—and it's impossible to know where their relationship will take them in the future or what they might end up wanting out of it. She'd been very happily _not_ thinking about any of this until Rachel had brought it up, but now she has a sneaking suspicion that she's going to start thinking about it more and more.

There's already a hazy picture of a miniature Rachel dancing around in her head, and Quinn isn't sure if either of them will ever be ready to bring it into focus.

xx

For a time, it's left unspoken, peeking out between the lines of other conversations. When they move in together, it's with the understanding that they never want to live apart again and they're on the path to marriage one day— _when we're ready and our careers are on track_ , Rachel says, and Quinn agrees. Babies are still a maybe that neither one of them have completely ruled out or fully embraced, but when Shelby finally lets them take Beth for a day by themselves, there are warm and fuzzy feelings and acknowledgements of how _nice_ it feels for the three of them to spend the day together—Rachel tells her _you made a really amazing kid_ with such reverence that those old _maybes_ become a little less hazy in Quinn's mind. When Oliver comes into their lives, they joke about _him_ being their baby, but being responsible for another living creature isn't as scary as they'd both thought it would be, so— _maybe we could do this for real someday,_ Quinn thinks but never says.

And then there's a gorgeous diamond sparkling on Quinn's ring finger, and Rachel is wearing one that complements it perfectly, and they're curled up together on _their_ sofa in _their_ apartment making solid plans for _their_ future.

"What do you think about June?" Quinn asks, idly running her fingertips over Rachel's left hand where it rests on Quinn's thigh and admiring the way both of their rings catch the light. She finds herself doing that an awful lot these days, and she's not ashamed in the least. It's taken them a long time to get here.

"As a month in general? Or for brides specifically?" Rachel asks playfully, catching Quinn's hand with her own and entwining their fingers.

"For our wedding, obviously," Quinn clarifies, giving Rachel's hand a sharp squeeze to punctuate her point.

"Obviously," Rachel echoes with a smile in her voice. " _Oh, they say when you marry in June_ ," she sings, " _you're a bride all your life. And the bridegroom who marries in June gets a sweetheart for a wife_.¹"

Rachel's impromptu performance comes to a frowning halt. "The musical genre really is overwhelmingly heteronormative," she complains with a huff.

Quinn laughs, too happy right now to really care overmuch about the stunning lack of diversity in the entertainment industry. "You're just figuring this out?" she teases.

"Believe me, Quinn, if I'm ever given the chance to change that in even the tiniest way, I won't hesitate," Rachel promises with a firm shake of her head.

Quinn frowns thoughtfully as she considers the implications of that vow. "Evelyn will be thrilled," she mutters, her frown deepening at the thought of Rachel's agent.

"I don't care," Rachel insists, shifting on the sofa so she can meet Quinn's eyes more comfortably—though Quinn immediately misses the warm weight of Rachel's body pressed against her side. "She works for _me_ , not the other way around."

Quinn nods faintly, biting into her lip as her eyes dart away from Rachel's determined gaze. Evelyn is already bristling at their engagement. Quinn can still remember the comment that the woman had made back in the early days of her relationship with Rachel—that it's much easier to hide a girlfriend than a wife. It had been a not-so-subtle warning to Quinn not to complicate Rachel's burgeoning career with grand gestures or public displays of affection.

"She's going to advise you against having a big, public wedding," Quinn warns her sadly, knowing that Evelyn had already advised Rachel not to marry Quinn at all—to keep living together if they wanted but not to do anything permanent that included public records. Rachel had almost fired her for that, but Evelyn had managed to earn a stay of execution with a quick surrender on the marriage front and promises of new roles and record deals to come.

"And I will kindly tell her to take her advice and shove it up her unmentionables," Rachel vows with an adorable scowl. "We're going to plan the wedding that _we_ want…in June," she adds, flashing a brilliant smile.

Quinn's lips turn up in a pleased grin. She's always wanted to be a June bride, but she'd wondered if maybe that might be rushing things. June is only nine months away, after all, but, "It is already our anniversary month," she reminds her fiancée with a fond smile, remembering their first kiss and first _I love yous_ and first—well, there were a lot of firsts that month. "We might as well make it official."

Rachel grins. "In every sense," she agrees, leaning in to grace Quinn's lips with a tender kiss.

"I really love you," Quinn sighs happily when they part.

Rachel hums in pleasure. "I really love you too, soon-to-be Mrs. Berry-Fabray."

"Fabray-Berry," Quinn automatically corrects, not entirely sure she likes the sound of Quinn _Berry_ , no matter how much she loves Rachel or how eager she is to become her wife.

Rachel frowns thoughtfully. "I suppose we still have time to figure that part out."

"Our kids are going to love having to hyphenate," Quinn muses, mostly joking as she continues to consider the possible combinations of their names and which one might sound better.

Rachel stills considerably beside her. "Kids?"

Quinn studies Rachel's guarded expression with a mild frown. "Yeah. Kids," she repeats slowly. "I'm pretty sure I want to have a family with you, Rach," she admits, giving voice to the desire that's been steadily growing inside of her over the last several years.

"Like…right now?" Rachel asks warily.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Yes. Right now, Rachel. Let's go find some sperm and get pregnant before your performance tonight," she drawls sarcastically.

Rachel aims a disgruntled pout in Quinn's direction, crossing her arms. "Be serious."

"Of course I don't mean _right_ _now_. We _just_ got engaged," Quinn points out needlessly, "but we _are_ getting married in the near future, and we've really only talked about children in the abstract before now." The _maybes_ and _somedays_ were left hanging with endless ellipses. "I know you've always been pretty uncommitted either way…"

"I prefer to think of it as flexible," Rachel interrupts with a frown.

"Flexible then," Quinn amends, huffing in annoyance. "But the last time we discussed it, I still wasn't certain what I wanted."

Rachel nods slowly as she licks her lips. "And now you are?" she asks cautiously.

"I think so," Quinn confirms with a nod. "For so long, having another baby felt like something I shouldn't be allowed to want after giving Beth up for adoption, but she understands how young I was when I had her and why I had to give her to Shelby, and I think I'm finally at peace with all of it…as much I can ever be, anyway," she admits, knowing that a part of her will always be left wondering what could have been if she'd made different decisions. "I know that Beth is happy and healthy and loved, and I'm so blessed to be able to have a good relationship with her."

"She's a great kid," Rachel murmurs with a tender smile.

"Yeah. She is," Quinn agrees proudly. "And whenever we spend time with her now, it feels so natural, and I guess I've been starting to think about how it would feel with our own child," she admits, allowing the image of a miniature Rachel to freely dance through her mind again. "So I'm pretty sure I'm gonna want to find out for real someday...if…if you do," she adds nervously, worrying her lower lip as she waits for her fiancée's answer.

Rachel draws in a deep breath before she nods faintly, offering Quinn a timid smile. "I want what you want."

Quinn's jaw clenches at receiving yet another vague answer. "Okay, don't do that," she grits out. "You need to tell me if you still have doubts about being a mother."

Rachel's wounded eyes dart away, and she begins to twist her fingers together in her lap, anxiously fiddling with her engagement ring. Quinn stomach drops at the sight and continues to plummet when Rachel asks in a small voice, "Are you going to give back the ring I gave you if I do?"

That she would even ask that—Quinn shakes her head, protectively covering her own engagement ring with her right hand. "I told you that you're never getting this ring back," she mulishly reminds Rachel.

A humorless laugh pushes past Rachel's lips as her worried gaze finds Quinn again. "But will you still marry me?"

Disappointment churns in Quinn's stomach at the unspoken confirmation that Rachel does still have doubts about motherhood while almost all of hers have steadily faded away, but Quinn knows in that instant that she would still choose to marry Rachel a thousand times over the possibility of having a child with anyone else. So it's easy to say, "Yes. Of course, I will, Rachel." She reaches over, prying Rachel's hand away from its fidgeting and holding it tight. "I've loved you for too long to give you up over…over the hypothetical family we may or may not have."

"The family you _want_ ," Rachel stresses doggedly.

Quinn glances away, drawing in a steadying breath in the hope it might help ease the ache in her heart. "And you don't," she concludes sadly.

"I didn't say that," Rachel corrects immediately. "I…I do still have…I wouldn't say _doubts_. Let's call them _concerns_ ," she explains clumsily.

"Concerns?" Quinn echoes uncertainly, gazing intently at Rachel once again.

"You know how crazy and exhausting my schedule can be when I'm doing a show, Quinn," Rachel begins regretfully, barely making eye contact. "And my career is really only just beginning to take off. I don't know what opportunities I might have in the future or what demands they might make on my time, and I know we wouldn't seriously consider expanding our family for a number of years at least, but," Rachel pauses, finally taking a much-needed breath as she meets Quinn's eyes, "when we have a child of our own, I want to make sure I'll be able to be fully present. For both of you."

" _When_ ," Quinn repeats, feeling renewed hope in the face of Rachel's very specific concerns.

Rachel's eyes widen slightly. "I can't give you an exact timeframe right now, Quinn!"

"No…that's not," Quinn trails off, shaking her head. "You said _when_ we have a child, not _if_."

Understanding flashes in Rachel's eyes. "I told you, I want what you want, Quinn," she repeats, holding up a hand when Quinn opens her mouth to protest again. "I'm not just saying it," she vows quickly. "If you'd decided that you didn't want another child after Beth, then I'm fairly certain that I would have been perfectly happy to be your wife and for the two of us to spend our lives together, doing what we love. But since that isn't your decision," she continues, moistening her lips and offering Quinn a tentative smile, "of course I'll be happy to start a family with you someday."

A sense of relief settles over Quinn at hearing those words, even with Rachel still cautioning that, "I just think we both need to be in a place where we feel ready to take that step, not to mention be financially stable and comfortably established in our careers."

Quinn nods, smiling widely because those things are perfectly reasonable, and it's absolutely understandable that Rachel would want to have a solid plan in place before she'll be ready for children. Quinn isn't expecting them to start trying the moment they get married. "I agree. We need to focus on the wedding first anyway, and you have the show right now _,_ which will undoubtedly enjoy a very long run."

"God willing," Rachel interjects. "And you're also going to need a time to nurture your burgeoning writing career."

Quinn hums in agreement, even though she doesn't think that working on her next novel would need to delay them from starting a family. "But children _are_ in the plans," she confirms, finally granting herself permission to start dreaming about their future kids.

"They are," Rachel agrees with a small nod. "Someday."

For once, the familiar qualifier doesn't bother Quinn in the least because she knows that they're already on their way to _someday_ , and she leans forward to capture Rachel's lips in a loving kiss, more eager than ever to start making plans for their future.

xx

 _Someday_ becomes _today_ on the first Thursday in August. Rachel has just finished previews in Chicago for her new show, _Confessions_ , and now they have a week of final tech rehearsals in their new home at the Cort Theatre before they're scheduled to perform their first Broadway preview early next week.

She's been committed to this show since the very first day of the workshop at the end of March, when every new day had meant new pages and new songs and new choreography. She'd been there to help wow the investors and earn the project a greenlight into production, and she'd stayed on through the recastings and rewrites into the rehearsals that had started in June, determined to bring her first original role to the stage. Rachel is simply brilliant as Iris, and Quinn couldn't be more proud of her wife.

Their stay in Chicago had given Quinn the chance to visit with her mother and TJ again—and Frannie too, she supposes, though her sister had been more miserable than ever on the heels of her very recent separation from Timothy. The time Quinn had spent with her nephew had gotten her thinking more about motherhood, especially after once again watching Rachel's admittedly brief interactions with TJ, and after they'd gotten home to New York, she and Rachel had been able spend a perfect day with Beth at Coney Island that only made Quinn more certain than ever that she's ready for them to start a family of their own.

Quinn knows the timing isn't exactly ideal. Rachel's short period of so-called downtime after leaving _Funny Girl_ had lasted a less than two months, give or take the weeks that she'd had between the workshop and the start of rehearsals, and if this show is a hit (and Quinn knows it will be a hit), it will take up at least another year of their lives. But both of their careers are flourishing right now, and they're in a really good place financially.

Rachel has her first Tony tucked safely away on the shelf, and Quinn expects this role to win her a second. The initial workshop agreement that Rachel had signed (thanks to Evelyn's uncompromising perseverance) guarantees her one percent of the royalties if (when) the show is a success, which could turn out to be really good for them in the long run. The industry is pretty unpredictable, but Evelyn manages to keep finding promising projects for Rachel's consideration, and she swears that she already has a record company ready to offer a contract should Rachel decide to dip her toes into the music industry with something other than a Broadway cast recording.

As for Quinn, her second book is still sitting on the bestseller list, and its success is reinvigorating the sales of her first. Devon is in negotiations with one of the two studios that were interested in the film rights, hoping to sell Quinn's books as the series they seem to be developing into. It still isn't set in stone, and Quinn is a little skeptical that it will really happen at this point, but she's feeling pretty confident that she can earn a living with her writing and not have to go back to a full-time desk job editing other people's books.

There's never going to be a perfect time to have a baby, but they can carve out an almost perfect time if they start making a solid plan now.

That's what Quinn intends to do when they sit down to relax after finishing the delicious meal of butternut squash baked risotto that she'd prepared for them. Rachel had spent a long day at the theatre, and she's excited to be on the final stretch to the official Broadway debut, but—

"I feel like I've been playing Iris forever, and we haven't even officially opened yet," Rachel says on a sigh, leaning her head against the back of the sofa.

Quinn lets her eyes roam over her wife's familiar profile, reaching out to sift her fingers through Rachel's hair in a soothing manner. She can hear the obvious affection that Rachel has for her character, but there's also an edge of exhaustion present that had taken a much longer time to appear when she'd been playing Fanny Brice.

"You're not feeling burned out already?" Quinn asks worriedly, knowing that even with Rachel's love of performing, playing the same role almost every night, month after month, for a year or longer can really drain her energy. Rachel had learned from her experience with _Funny Girl_ that pushing past a year, though wonderful in terms of steady employment and income, isn't really wonderful for her creativity, and she'd really had to dig for the inspiration to get through those last few months of her contract. Quinn hates to think that Rachel might hit that point even sooner with this show.

"No. I'm not," Rachel assures her, turning her head to gaze at Quinn. "But…well, I've been with Iris since her conception, so to speak, and I feel like I've poured more of myself into her than any other role I've ever done. I'm just really ready to send her out into the world and find out if people love her as much as I do," she explains, and Quinn nods in understanding.

She feels something similar when she's bringing characters to life in her books, and while Rachel didn't create this character in quite the same way, so much of what Iris has become has been formed by Rachel's interpretation of her that she's bound to feel more connected to her than to characters that have already been established and performed hundreds of times.

"They will," Quinn promises with an encouraging smile that Rachel gratefully returns. The audiences in Chicago certainly did.

"I hope so," Rachel murmurs, laughing a little. "She's kind of my baby."

Quinn's breath catches at the perfect opportunity that Rachel had just unknowingly dropped into her lap, and she licks her lips, taking a moment to gather her thoughts (and her courage) before speaking. "Um…while we're on that subject," she begins haltingly, "are you still thinking that you won't extend past your current contract with _Confessions_?"

Rachel is committed to the show for a full year of public performances, assuming the show runs for that long, and with the buzz around it and the reception it had gotten during its stay in Chicago, there's a good chance it will run even longer.

Rachel shrugs. "I can't be completely certain, of course, but I have a feeling that I'll probably be ready for something new if the show continues past next year."

Quinn nods, heart beginning to race. "Like…maybe motherhood?"

It's almost scary how quiet the room gets—except for the sharp hiss of Rachel's indrawn breath. Quinn watches her wife's eyes widen, allowing her an unobstructed view of the surprised apprehension that quickly fills them. A pink tongue pokes out to race across Rachel's lips, moistening them, as she sits up straight. "Don't you think it's…maybe still a little soon for that?" she challenges carefully. "I mean, we've only been married a year."

"But we've been together for more than five, and we've known each other practically half our lives," Quinn argues gently, holding onto her hopefulness despite Rachel's obvious hesitancy. A tender smile forms on her lips as she reaches over to slip her fingers in between Rachel's in a loose hold. "I'm ready to start a family with you, Rach."

Rachel's fingers tighten around Quinn's for just a moment before she untangles their hands. "I have the show right now," she says, quietly darting her eyes away. "This really isn't the best time to think about having a baby."

"I'm not suggesting that we start trying to conceive _right now_ ," Quinn explains with her stomach beginning to churn unpleasantly at Rachel's obvious reluctance, "but I thought we could start talking about our options and decide exactly when we do want to start trying. Maybe we could even time it for some time next fall, after you finish the show."

Rachel drags in an uneven breath. "I…I just think we should wait awhile longer."

The churning gets worse, making Quinn feel a little bit nauseous. "How much longer?"

Rachel's hands twist together in her lap. "I can't really predict my career path, Quinn. If _Confessions_ is a flop and closes right away, I'm going to be looking for another project because, honestly, I'm not ready to take an extended break from the stage just yet," she admits in a rush of breath, shaking her head. "It might be another two or three years before I would be, and you know I've been considering the possibility of trying to record an album, not to mention breaking into television. Everything is still so uncertain right now, and we should really build up our nest egg a little more and maybe think about getting a bigger apartment before we consider making any life altering decisions. And a baby is," she shakes her head, biting back an uneasy laugh, "a really big life-altering decision."

Quinn's stomach bottoms out completely, leaving her sick with disappointment. She inhales deeply, feeling the oxygen burn her lungs before exhaling slowly. "You're always going to find reason to say _no_ , aren't you," she realizes miserably, not bothering to make it sound like a question.

Beside her, Rachel flinches. "I'm not saying _no_ ," she denies—her anxious gaze darting back to meet Quinn's wounded eyes. "I'm saying _not now_. It's just…it's really soon, Quinn. I thought we agreed to wait."

A bitter laugh slips past Quinn's pursed lips. "We agreed to wait two years ago, after we got engaged. You know…when you swore you wanted what I wanted," she reminds her wife sharply. She makes no attempt to mask her frustration with Rachel's reaction—the convenient excuses in a poor attempt to disguise her obvious lack of desire to start a family.

"I did," Rachel is quick to insist and even quicker to amend it to, "I _do,_ " at Quinn's accusing glare. "This just isn't the best time for us to have a child."

Quinn shakes her head, pressing a hand to her forehead as she battles back the tears that she can feel threatening to spill from stinging eyes. "The perfect moment isn't just going to magically present itself, Rachel. You know that, right?" she asks tiredly, dropping her hand. "There'll always be another show or an album or a guest appearance, and you're always going to want to take that next project." Quinn knows her wife too well to expect anything less, but, "If you really want us to have a family, you have to be willing to make your own _best time_."

Rachel's lips purse into a thin line, and her hands begin to fidget in her lap again. "I can't just…arbitrarily put my career on the backburner to schedule in a pregnancy, Quinn."

"I'm not asking you to!" Quinn exclaims, throwing out her hands in supplication. "Having a baby doesn't mean you have to sacrifice your career. I _want_ you to have that, Rachel. I want you to have _everything_." How can she not comprehend that by now?

"I'll happily be the one to carry our baby and stay home with him or her," she continues in a softer tone—her temper melting away at the mere thought of what their future could hold. "I have it all planned out in my head. I've been planning it for the last year…longer, if I'm being honest," she confesses with a sad smile, feeling a bit of the moisture that's been gathering in her eyes spill over onto her cheek, and she reflexively lifts a hand to brush it away. "I want to do this for us…for you." She reaches over to cover one of Rachel's hands with her own, and Rachel glances away guiltily. "But you have to want me to, and…I don't feel like you really do," she concedes unhappily, letting her hand slide away.

"That's not true," Rachel argues, brown eyes flying back to hers. "Just because I want us to wait…"

"For what?" Quinn cuts in sharply. "What are we waiting for, Rachel? The proverbial _right time_ that doesn't actually exist? Another Tony? A Grammy? The Emmy and Oscar to complete the quartet?" she fires out, hearing her voice catch as she rapidly loses the battle with her tears. With every desperate question, she watches Rachel's posture grow increasingly more defensive—all crossed arms, tense jaw, and glistening eyes—but Quinn can't seem to stop herself. "Are we waiting for me to win a literary award or for my books to be made into movies? Or until we're in our thirties? Or are you waiting for me to change my mind again?"

"I'm not _waiting_ for anything," Rachel finally snaps, standing up from the sofa in jerky movements and pacing a few steps away before spinning to face Quinn with a pained expression. "I'm just not ready yet. That doesn't make me a terrible person, Quinn. Or a...a liar," she stammers out, angrily swiping at the tear spilling down over her own cheek. "You said you understood. You said you'd love me regardless of any hypothetical children we may or may not have."

"I do love you," Quinn promises quietly as she stares up at her wife with longing. "I love you so much that I dream about seeing that love brought to life in a child of our own," she confesses, closing her eyes as she wraps her arms around her stomach protectively. She can feel the ache that's been growing there for so long—the yearning for them to create their own little family. "A son or daughter to love and nurture and share a lifetime of moments filled with laughter and music and stories and walks in the park." Quinn opens her eyes to see Rachel's sorrowful expression. "It hurts to think that you might not want the same thing."

"I…I do want that," Rachel vows tearfully, sniffling as she wipes the moisture from her cheeks, "and eventually…we can…"

"Stop!" Quinn rasps, holding up a desperate hand to stave off another one of Rachel's empty promises. "Please stop saying that," she pleads, standing on unsteady legs to meet Rachel on equal ground. "You keep putting me off with _someday_ and _eventually_ , butthey never seem to translate into an actual plan. You, Rachel Berry, with the life plan and the perfect picture of your future and spreadsheets and PowerPoints, have _no_ _plan_ for us to start a family," she points out with a hollow laugh. "Had you even given any thought at all about us having a baby before I brought it up again?"

She knows the answer before Rachel even opens her mouth—can see it advertised in every tense line of Rachel's posture like a neon sign over Broadway. "Not in the concrete sense," she mutters defensively, refusing to meet Quinn's eyes. "But I've had other things on my mind, Quinn. I'm sorry that my biological clock isn't on the same cycle as yours."

"Is it even ticking at all?" Quinn challenges, feeling her heart break at the confirmation that she's alone in her desire for a child and has been all along.

Huffing, Rachel throws out her hands in exasperation. "I just don't understand why this has to be all or nothing right this minute. Why can't we just put this conversation on hold until we're both ready?"

"You mean until _you're_ ready," Quinn corrects heatedly. "Except you have no idea when that will be, you can't even offer me a general timeframe, and you just made it clear that your career is more important to you than making time to start a family. So I'm sorry, Rachel, but that feels like we're falling on the _nothing_ end of the spectrum to me."

"Because you're stubbornly refusing to comprehend the difference between _never_ and _not right now_ ," Rachel cries, catching Quinn's hand with both of hers and pleading, "Why can't we just wait a few more years?"

A humorless laugh falls into the air between them. "You've never been willing to wait for anything you really want, Rachel. You go after it with both hands," Quinn accuses, glancing down to the spot where Rachel is attempting to do exactly that right now before gently tugging her hand out of Rachel's grasp, "and even when your plans turn out to be complete and utter crap, you still cling to them until the bitter end, so forgive me if what I'm _comprehending_ by your utter lack of initiative in all of this is that you just don't care enough about us ever having a baby to carve out a place in your busy schedule to make it happen," she spits out sourly.

"You are willfully misconstruing what I'm telling you, Quinn."

Quinn growls under her breath, wishing Rachel would just admit the truth and put her out of her misery. She drags her hands over her face in exhaustion before pushing them through her hair. "Then let's make a plan, Rachel," she practically begs, giving Rachel another chance to meet her halfway. "You say you're not ready to have a baby right now. Okay. I can deal with that. I can wait a year. I can wait two," she concedes, ignoring her own longing to have a baby before she turns thirty because she already gave birth to a daughter who's swiftly approaching her teens. "But let's set it in stone. Let's pick a time when we think we'll be ready to start trying. Let's set a specific goal for our bank accounts and save our money and start looking for new apartments with an extra bedroom. We can do that now, can't we? Start making some of the changes we need to make to get ready for a baby?"

Rachel's eyes are panicked in the seconds before she closes them, shutting Quinn out. "I...I don't know what you want me to say," she whispers brokenly.

The last of Quinn's hope comes crashing down around her feet, and she chokes back a sob. "I think you just said it," she manages around the thickness in her throat.

Tearful brown eyes fly open, and Rachel reaches for her. "Quinn, baby..."

"Don't," Quinn rasps, shrugging off her touch before sniffling wretchedly. "Don't you dare _baby_ me right now, Rachel. I can't," she cries, hastily swiping at her tears as she shakily turns away. "I can't be here," she mumbles, moving toward the apartment door—needing to be away from Rachel right now.

"Wait," Rachel calls out desperately, hurrying after her. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk," Quinn grits out, blindly grabbing for her purse as she passes by the table.

"Don't," Rachel pleads, catching her hand again. "It's getting late. Just…just stay here and we can work through this."

"No, we can't!" Quinn denies sharply, staring at her wife in disbelief.

Rachel's eyes widen in horror, and her lower lip starts to tremble. "What…what do you mean, we can't?"

"You don't want a baby. I do. So _we_ can't work through anything right now," Quinn informs her stiffly, shaking free of Rachel's grip. " _I_ need time and space to work through my disappointment and…and _heartbreak_ on my own," she explains mournfully, letting her tears fall unimpeded, "and _you_ need to let me have that, Rachel. Can you? Can you at least let me have that?"

Quinn doesn't wait for an answer—it doesn't matter anyway. She's already out the door when she hears Rachel tearfully call out her name, but she doesn't stop walking.

She'd let herself hope—let herself dream about their future. She'd so clearly imagined a little girl with dark hair and brown eyes dancing around their legs as they'd walked in the park and a little boy with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes climbing a tree while she'd hovered underneath him to make sure he didn't fall. She'd pictured Rachel right there beside her with that one of a kind smile, beaming with pride at their family. She'd let herself believe that Rachel would be as excited as she was to make those dreams come true.

Now Quinn doesn't know what to think or how to feel.

It's not that Rachel isn't enough for her—she's been the most important person in Quinn's life for so long (other than Beth)—but Rachel had let her think that one day they'd make room in their life for a child or two of their own. Quinn had set aside a space in her heart and let it grow, but now that space only feels empty.

Pressing a palm to her chest, Quinn exits the building and walks aimlessly along the sidewalk with no destination in mind, praying the air will help clear her head and ease the ache in her heart so she can be happy with Rachel again—just the two of them.

Someday.

Maybe.

Eventually.

* * *

¹ _"June Bride," Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_


	2. Baby, You're the Rest of My Life

**Part II: Baby, You're the Rest of My Life**

* * *

Rachel rests a palm against the closed door of their apartment as she stares unseeingly at the wood in front of her. Her mind is still spinning, replaying the conversation that she'd just had with Quinn—the one that caused her wife to walk out on her. Her stomach twists and turns over itself, and Rachel stumbles out of the entryway with trembling fingers pressed to her mouth to keep her dinner from making an untimely reappearance on the hardwood floor.

Collapsing onto the sofa, a bitter laugh escapes through her fingers before it turns into a choked sob, and she presses a hand to her churning stomach in the hope of calming it. There's a tightness in her chest that she hasn't felt in years—the heavy weight of fear and confusion that comes with an uncertain future. The first time she'd felt it, she'd been seventeen and waiting for a letter to appear from NYADA after foolishly piling all her hopes of making it to New York City into one school. She'd attempted to chase it away with a desperate engagement to her one sure thing, but she hadn't truly been able to breathe easily again until she'd been safely in Manhattan.

The second time she'd felt it had been a year later when she'd realized that her period hadn't yet come and all of her hopes and dreams had seemed to crash down on top of her with the possibility of a positive pregnancy test. The suffocation and desperation she'd felt had only ended two days later with the very welcomed proof that she hadn't fallen pregnant after all.

The third time—well, she'd never really told Quinn about that time in regards to her fears. She'd been twenty-two and finally waking up to the discovery that she'd fallen in love with her best friend who was very much a woman and who couldn't possibly (to her mind at that time) feel the same way about Rachel. The idea of telling Quinn about her feelings and potentially ruining their friendship had been just as crushing as the thought of never telling her and watching her fall in love with someone else. Rachel had made herself sick thinking about it until she'd finally worked up the courage to say something to Quinn. The outcome has been better than anything she'd ever dared to dream at the time.

But this—this weight on her chest is a terrible combination of all those hopes and dreams threatening to tip over the edge of an unknown abyss and the very real fear of losing Quinn because of her own reluctance to take this particular leap of faith.

Letting out another sob, Rachel leans forward on the sofa, dropping her head into her hands as she lets her tears come. Her thoughts spiral back through the years, searching for the moment that her current predicament had taken shape.

It certainly wasn't in high school. While witnessing everything that Quinn had gone through with her pregnancy had certainly made Rachel think twice about having sex before she was ready, in the end, it hadn't really changed anything for her. At sixteen, she'd felt invincible, and she'd simply decided that her future plans wouldn't dare to be disrupted by a pesky little thing like reality. She'd had her life planned out—the general end results if not every intricate detail of how to get there.

What she'd told Quinn in college had been true—Rachel had never bothered to think through the particulars of maintaining a long-term, successful, multi-faceted career in the entertainment industry while also trying to raise a family. She'd naively believed that she was just so exceptionally talented that all of the roles and awards she'd ever wanted would practically fall into her lap by the time she was twenty-five, and then maybe she could take a tiny, little three to four year break to get married and pop out two perfect kids in quick succession before jumping back into performing. Obviously, her chosen husband would be there waiting in the wings to do his part by marrying her when she told him to, impregnating her, and then taking care of the kids while she went back to work.

That abstract plan had been blown out of the water when she'd been forced to imagine actually being pregnant with Finn Hudson's baby at eighteen, having to drop out of school and get married to a guy who was barely earning enough money to pay his half of the rent in a job he'd hated—a guy who, no matter how sweet he'd been, had still needed Rachel to write down his schedule, draw him maps to the subway with step-by-step directions to wherever he'd needed to go, and budget out his money to get him through the day. Finn could have never taken care of a child at the time, and neither could she—not when she'd already been struggling to take care of herself _and_ Finn even with little to no real responsibility on their shoulders.

She'd been so relieved when she'd finally gotten her period, and she'd sworn then and there that she wouldn't ever put herself in that position again until she was absolutely ready to have a child.

But living in New York, struggling to be good enough to win even the tiniest accolade from the instructors in her classes, and witnessing the work ethic and talent of her fellow classmates had thrown Rachel into the realization that nothing would be falling into her lap easily. She was going to have to work her ass off for every little success, and bringing a child into the life of a struggling actress had felt impossible to her at the time.

There hadn't been a reason to reevaluate her decision for years. She'd rebounded from Finn with Daniel, and then she'd dated Steven for all of three months—happy enough with their platonic relationship until she hadn't been. Charlie and Adam had been mistakes on every level—short but hardly sweet—and Peter, even though Rachel had genuinely loved him for a time, had never really felt like _the one_. Maybe that was because, on some level, her heart had already decided that Quinn was _the one_.

But Quinn could never get her pregnant—accidentally or otherwise. And Quinn already had a daughter, and for so long, she'd seemed so conflicted about Beth and the idea of more kids. And maybe Rachel _had_ been a little relieved when it seemed like Quinn might not be in any hurry to complicate their idyllic life with a baby of their own.

It doesn't mean that Rachel _never_ wants kids.

It _doesn't._

Kids are wonderful.

But they're expensive. And they need a lot of attention. And things. Kids need things—like food and clothes and toys and doctors and medicine and space and education and patience and at least eighteen years of constant care and devotion.

And is she hyperventilating?

Rachel lifts her head and inhales deeply, struggling to even out her breathing and dissipate her minor anxiety attack. She still feels sick from her argument with Quinn, and the guilt that's currently raining down on top of her isn't helping the situation.

She really hadn't been lying to Quinn or putting her off or just saying what she wanted to hear. Maybe it _had_ taken Rachel a few years to embrace the idea of starting a family, but when she'd promised her wife that she wanted that someday, she'd meant it. It's just—someday isn't supposed to happen this soon!

Rachel still has so many things she needs to accomplish with her career, and despite what Quinn seems to think, having a baby _will_ mean that Rachel won't be able to devote the same level of time and energy to all of those other things she wants to do—not if she's devoting time and energy to a child as well. Something has to give, and Rachel is terrified it will be _her_ —that she'll make the wrong choices and fail as a mother because she still wants everything too much.

Failing her own child would devastate her.

She's not ready to face that possibility—not yet. She just needs more time to get everything in order—to really establish herself in the industry and work out a good, solid five (or eight) year plan. Quinn has to understand that, doesn't she?

"Of course, she does," Rachel whispers shakily. "We'll start our family someday," she promises, but Oliver is the only one there to hear it, eyeing her curiously from his perch on the chair before making the leap over to the sofa and cuddling up next to her.

Rachel sinks her fingers into his soft fur and cries a little more, wishing that babies were as easy to take care of as their cat—the cat that still seems to like Quinn just a little bit more.

Fifty-seven minutes pass before Rachel gets a text that simply says, _**I'm at Santana's. I'll be home later.**_

It's already late, and Rachel frowns, wondering exactly when Quinn showed up at Santana's apartment and how much she's sharing about what took her there. The idea of Santana knowing this particular bit of their personal business doesn't sit well with Rachel for reasons she can't quite articulate. It feels too intimate, too private, too much like something that no one else should ever know.

It's what keeps Rachel from picking up the phone and calling Kurt or her dads to vent her own frustrations—that and the fear that they'll judge her or take Quinn's side.

There shouldn't be any sides for this.

Rachel hates this feeling. She wants Quinn home so that they can talk this out, reach some sort of resolution, and get back to their life. She'd thought everything was pretty wonderful right now—that they were both happy. Quinn has her books and a potential film deal in the works, and Rachel has her show. She's even been tinkering around with some lyrics, thinking she might try to write a few songs and get serious about a recording contract while she maybe tries to crossover into television with a guest role or two.

When did Quinn come down with such an acute case of baby fever? And how had Rachel missed it happening?

Maybe she really is that self-involved.

"Or maybe Quinn just dropped a baby bomb in my lap with no warning and let it explode in my face," Rachel mutters under her breath as she finishes cleaning up the kitchen in an effort to not dwell on the lateness of the hour or the fact that Quinn isn't home yet.

She should be in bed, happily curled into her wife and drifting into blissful dreams so that she can be well-rested for another long day of tech rehearsals tomorrow. She's so close to the first Broadway preview, and even though they'd gotten fairly good reviews in Chicago, a show can live or die by word of mouth after its premiere on the Great White Way. Rachel needs to be at her best on Tuesday night, and thanks to Quinn, she feels like that might be an impossibility now.

She's just about ready to call Santana directly and ask if Quinn is still there when she hears the door to their apartment finally open. Rachel rushes to meet her wife, nearly tripping over Oliver, who's doing the same thing.

"Quinn, you're home," she exclaims gratefully, studying Quinn's face in an attempt to gauge her current mood.

"I'm home," Quinn repeats flatly as she tosses her purse on the table. There's a slight rasp in her voice—the one she gets when she's been crying—and her eyes are glassy and red.

Rachel's stomach clenches again. "I was starting to worry."

Quinn shrugs. "I texted you."

She brushes past Rachel on her way to the kitchen, and Rachel follows after her with a troubled frown. "Yes, well, saying only that you were at Santana's apartment doesn't make me not worry."

"I can't help that," Quinn mutters, pausing to glance briefly around the clean kitchen with a blank expression before reaching for a glass in the cabinet.

Rachel watches her pour herself some water and take a sip before she leans heavily against the counter. There's an air of exhaustion in her posture, and her eyes resolutely refuse to meet Rachel's worried gaze. Rachel feels the weight on her chest increase, and she unconsciously begins to twist her wedding rings around her finger. "Did you…did you tell her…?"

"I needed to vent," Quinn admits unapologetically, and Rachel purses her lips, nodding jerkily. She can only imagine Santana's response to whatever Quinn might have said. "Don't worry," Quinn chides with a huff, finally meeting Rachel's eyes—her own snapping with mild annoyance. "Teresa had to work tonight, so she wasn't there, and Santana promised not to say anything to anyone until we figure out our shit."

Rachel suspects that was probably the least disdainful thing that Santana had said on the subject. "Do I need to worry that she'll show up and slap me for disappointing you?"

Quinn puffs out a frustrated breath. "She isn't taking sides," she reveals resignedly before turning to dump the rest of her water into the sink.

"Oh," Rachel breathes, a little surprised to hear that. Then again, she doesn't think Santana is in any big hurry to say hello to motherhood either, so maybe she might actually be sympathetic to Rachel's position. "Did talking to her help?"

Quinn shrugs again. "Maybe."

She's back to not meeting Rachel's eyes again, and aside from the one brief flash of irritation, Quinn's emotions are currently locked down tight. Rachel doesn't like it one bit. "Are…are we okay?" she asks haltingly.

"No."

The answer comes quickly, thrown at her with an air of detachment, and Rachel feels it cut through her like blade. "No?" she repeats in a pained whisper, clutching at her rolling stomach. In the space of a few seconds, Rachel envisions her marriage falling apart and Quinn packing up all her belongings and leaving—all because Rachel isn't ready for a baby yet.

Quinn's jaw tenses visibly as she shakes her head. "I can't just…be okay right now, Rachel. I need more time to…to get back to a place where I can be. So I'm sleeping in the other room tonight," she announces, pushing off the counter and brushing past Rachel again.

Rachel spins around quickly, grabbing for Quinn's hand to stop her. "Please don't do that," she begs tearfully.

Quinn stiffens under her touch, drawing in a deep breath and clearly struggling to keep her composure. "I'm probably going to cry myself to sleep tonight," she confesses in a strained voice, "and if… _when_ I do, I really don't want you trying to comfort me." The admission cuts Rachel to the core, and she whimpers pathetically. "So it's better if you just let me have my space."

"For how long?" Rachel questions desperately.

Quinn's glistening eyes narrow. "I can't really predict when I'll be _ready_ , Rachel," she spits cattily, echoing words that Rachel had used earlier.

Rachel chokes back a sob and lets go of Quinn's hand, nodding erratically. "O-okay. I…I probably deserve that."

Quinn sighs raggedly and runs a hand over her eyes, wiping away her tears. "No. You don't," she denies quietly. "I just…I'm obviously still disappointed," she admits sadly, "and I really don't want to make things worse by lashing out at you. You're not ready to have kids, and I…I have to accept that," she resolves, sniffling a little as she brushes away another stray tear. "I will. Eventually," she vows, and it almost seems like she's trying to convince herself more than Rachel. "But not tonight."

Rachel nods again, unable to do anything else but accept Quinn's need for time and space. "I…I understand," she promises, watching her wife turn and make her way through the apartment to the second bedroom while Rachel slowly shuffles along behind her—her arms crossed protectively over her stomach. There's still a distinct possibility that her dinner will make an unwelcome reappearance at some point tonight.

"Quinn," Rachel calls out right before Quinn disappears into the bedroom, grateful when she stops and turns her gaze back over her shoulder. "I love you," she says softly, trying to convey with her words and her eyes and her entire being just how very true those words are.

Quinn's eyes close, and her posture seems to deflate. "I know you do, Rachel. I love you too. I just can't talk to you right now." And with that, she slips inside the room and closes the door behind her with a quiet click.

Rachel lifts a hand to her mouth, silencing her sobs as she stares sorrowfully at the closed door. She feels sick—sick and sad and filled with the kind of soul-deep remorse that makes her want to crawl under a rock and never come out. She hates fighting with Quinn. She hates disappointing her even more. And she hates knowing that she's forcing Quinn to sacrifice something she so obviously wants.

But Rachel just can't see a way for them to reach a happy compromise right now.

With her heart breaking into a million pieces, she drags herself into the bedroom, drowning in a fresh wave of tears when her gaze lands on the bed that she'll be sleeping in alone tonight.

In fact, Rachel doesn't exactly sleep at all. She stares tearfully at the ceiling for the first hour or so, vacillating between guilt over her own aversion to starting a family and frustration with Quinn for being so obstinate in her all-or-nothing mentality.

So what if Rachel hasn't been actively planning for a baby yet? She's been kind of busy for the last few years planning her proposal to Quinn and then planning their wedding and planning around her schedule with _Funny Girl_ so she could enjoy her newlywed state with Quinn to the best of her ability. And then she'd planned their honeymoon in Paris at the same time she'd been planning her next career move—and really, _Confessions_ has eaten up a huge chunk of her time and energy over the last six months. When did she even have time to think about children?

Obviously, Quinn hasn't shared that particular problem.

Rachel rolls over on the mattress, punching at her pillow before she rubs at her tired, tear-gritty eyes. The bed feels too big and far too cold without Quinn next to her, and she dejectedly wonders how long it will be before Quinn will be ready to sleep beside her again.

At some point, Rachel does manage to fall into a brief, fitful sleep. The images behind her eyelids force her to see Quinn, smiling and happy with a baby cradled tenderly in her arms. Rachel can't seem to see the baby's face—she can only hear the cries—so she tries to get closer, feeling an increasing sense of desperation to hold them both, but every time she thinks she's close enough to touch them, Quinn slips farther away until she's laughing at Rachel and reminding her, _'you didn't want this anyway.'_

Needless to say, Rachel is not feeling her best in the morning. She stumbles out of the bedroom, nearly tripping over Oliver again as he begs her for his breakfast, and into the bathroom, cringing when she gets a good look at her red, puffy eyes and the dark circles beneath them. She does the best she can with what she has to work with before padding out to the kitchen.

She honestly doesn't expect to find Quinn there. She'd figured her wife would still be barricaded in the other bedroom until after Rachel had left for the theatre, but Quinn is up and about, wearing the old robe she keeps in the back of the spare closet and frying up a few slices of French toast while the coffee brews. She doesn't look much better than Rachel feels.

"Good morning," Rachel greets timidly, slipping into the kitchen next to Quinn.

Quinn's only response is a gruff, "Morning."

Rachel ignores Oliver's eager chirps for food, focusing all her attention on her wife as she offers a tentative smile. "I…I missed you last night. You know I can't sleep without you."

"I didn't exactly sleep well either," Quinn admits tiredly, keeping her attention on the skillet as she flips a piece of toast over, "but being in the same bed wouldn't have changed that."

The words aren't said with any kind of spite—just a tired resignation—but they still settle heavily on Rachel's heart, and she reaches for her wife, laying a hand on her arm. "I'm so sorry, baby. Tell me what to do. How do I fix this?" she pleads, willing to do anything—well, _almost_ anything—to get them back on solid ground.

Quinn shakes her head sadly. "You can't."

Rachel swallows heavily, feeling tears prick at her eyes again at the stoic acceptance in Quinn's tone and the quiet sorrow in her expression. She watches Quinn transfer a few pieces of the toast to a waiting plate, routinely going on with her day as if it's any other despite her unhappiness, and she thinks about all of the other times in the past when Quinn has had to push her own desires away and deal with disappointment without letting anyone see her pain.

"I don't want us to be broken," Rachel whimpers.

Quinn sighs. "We're not broken," she promises, turning to Rachel and offering her the plate with a thin smile that's more rueful than reassuring. "We're just a little bent right now."

"Quinn…"

"You should eat your breakfast," Quinn interrupts, nodding down to the plate she's still holding. "You have to get to rehearsal on time."

Frowning, Rachel reluctantly takes the plate. "I can call in sick."

"And do what?" Quinn challenges with an arched brow. "Keep apologizing for something you can't change? Engage in a few more pointless, circular conversations that do nothing but frustrate both of us?" She briefly closes her eyes, shaking her head again, before she pointedly orders Rachel to, "Go to the theatre. Focus on your show. I'll be here when you get home."

"Do you really think I'll be able to focus on performing today?" she questions petulantly, even though she knows that Quinn is right. Staying here and continuing to have the same conversation won't make anything better—in fact, it might only end up making everything worse.

"I think you're exceptionally talented and dedicated to your craft," Quinn responds easily. "A Rachel Berry off-day performance is still better than average."

Despite her general unrest, Rachel finds her mouth quirking up at the corner just a little because even when Quinn is mad at her, she still believes in her talent without hesitation—although being any shade of average, even _better than_ , is unacceptable.

 _It would be even more unacceptable when it comes to motherhood._

The wayward thought has Rachel's tiny smile slipping away in an instant, and she averts her gaze from Quinn as the guilt churns in her stomach again. What little there was of her appetite disappears, but she dutifully takes her plate to the table and attempts to eat some of her breakfast, if for no other reason than that Quinn had made it for her. It sits as heavily in her stomach as Quinn's disappointment does on her heart.

 _xx_

There's no happy resolution—no easy solution to send them quickly back into their blissful life. Rachel goes to her rehearsal (that's a clumsy, distracted mess so far from even being average that Rachel nearly cries) and returns home to a quiet, withdrawn Quinn. There's dinner on the table, and the anger and accusations have drained away, but there's a distance between them that Rachel doesn't know how to bridge.

Quinn sleeps in their bed that night, but she stays on her side of the mattress, refusing to breach the invisible wall between them.

In the days that follow, they simply don't talk about it. Their conversations about other subjects gradually lose a little of the strain, and their bodies gravitate closer to each other during the nights. But Rachel knows it's still there. She can feel it hanging between them like a fog, and she can see it lingering in sad, hazel eyes.

Quinn is there in the front row for the first Broadway preview of _Confessions_ , cheering Rachel on, and to anyone looking, everything is exactly as it should be. Rachel has a good show with good reviews, and her wife is there supporting her with a proud smile on her lips—and if that smile doesn't always reach her eyes in quite the same way it used to, no one but Rachel notices.

It will take time. Rachel knows that. The tension between them is already fading away in tiny increments, and she knows if she just rides it out, they can put this behind them eventually.

Except they can't.

Rachel knows that too. Quinn's longing for a baby will always be there, hidden away in her heart, and Rachel will always be able to see it now. Oh, she's confident that she could expertly ignore it—she's done that enough in the past with other unpleasant truths that she didn't want to face—but she loves her wife too deeply to push this aside and never let it bother her.

It's bothering her.

It had been so easy to push the subject of babies to the side and forget about it when everything had been hypothetical and Quinn had been content to wait, but Quinn isn't content anymore, so Rachel keeps turning the issue over and over in her mind, looking for some solution that doesn't make her feel like she's on the verge of losing something vital with any decision she might make.

Because she _does_ want everything that Quinn wants.

Someday.

 _And when exactly is this much discussed someday?_ whispers through her mind, taunting her.

Rachel doesn't have an answer, and she knows if she could only find one, she'd be able to fix this.

Her unsettled state is what has her sitting in the park eleven days after the baby bomb was dropped. Her show is still technically in previews until the end of the week, and Derek is still tweaking some of the choreography for maximum impact on this particular stage with the final working sets, so Rachel is still dealing with a few hours of rehearsals before the performances. She's attempting to enjoy the break between today's rehearsal and her seven o'clock show, soaking up the evening sun and the fresh air as she tries to keep her mind from dwelling on the lingering moments of melancholy that she senses in Quinn.

It's not working.

Not when she's noticing every family that happens to pass by—husbands and wives with rambunctious sons and daughters racing ahead of them, mothers with baby strollers doing their evening power walks to get back into shape, a father in a rumpled suit and loose tie giving his giggling daughter a piggyback ride, and a young mother jogging along beside her little girl as she wobbles precariously on her bicycle.

In the blink of an eye, Rachel imagines that it's Quinn racing along beside their daughter with protective arms outstretched to catch her if she falls, and the pang of longing she experiences brings tears to her eyes. She can picture it so perfectly—Quinn with her wide, joyful smile as she cheers on a beautiful little girl with blonde hair and hazel eyes and a fiercely determined expression.

Rachel wants that for Quinn—so very much—but whenever she tries to imagine herself in the picture, she keeps coming up empty.

 _Because you won't be there_ , she silently berates herself. _You'll be off doing a show or on tour or stuck in a studio or auditioning because you need applause to live, and Quinn will be teaching your child how to ride a bike on her own exactly like that woman is doing._

 _And they'll both hate you for it as much as you'll hate yourself._

Shaking her head to dislodge the unhappy thought, Rachel wipes away the stray tears that had escaped down her cheeks and pulls herself up off the bench. She has a show to get to after all.

 _xx_

"You were wonderful tonight. I'm so proud of you," Quinn says with a smile—a real one that reaches her eyes—as she hands Rachel a single rose in her dressing room after her performance.

Rachel takes the rose with a shy grin, lifting it to her nose to inhale the sweet scent. "Even though you've already seen the show over a dozen times?"

Quinn shrugs. "Opening nights are still special." And she'd still insisted on being there, front and center, even though _Confessions_ has been playing in previews at this theatre for two weeks already.

"It still means everything to me that you're here for all of them," Rachel tells her appreciatively.

Quinn gently strokes Rachel's cheek, leaning in to brush a soft kiss over her lips, and Rachel revels in the contact. They've been steadily working their way back to the comfortable affection that has marked their relationship for so long, but the kisses have been a bit slower in coming, and Rachel has missed them more than she can say. All too soon, Quinn is pulling away, but she's still smiling softly, and that smile is everything to Rachel.

"Come on, we have a party to get you to," Quinn urges, dropping her hand and stepping back.

Rachel sighs, not particularly eager to attend the party. She'd much rather sign some autographs at the stage door before going home with Quinn to enjoy a few extra hours of sleep, but she knows she has to at least make an appearance. So she carefully lays her rose on her vanity table, finishes removing the last traces of Iris from her face and body, and changes into her dress before she and Quinn take a private car to Espace on 42nd Street where they'll rub elbows with her cast, crew, investors, and the A-List members of the audience who'd scored an invitation tonight. Rachel has come a long way from buying drinks for her friends at the bar that Robert Tremaine had rented out on the opening night of _West Side Story_.

Oh, some of her friends are here tonight too after attending the performance as Rachel's guests. Kurt and Harry are making connections with a few celebrities who seem as eager to wear a Kurt Hummel Original as he is to dress them for their next event. And Santana is taking advantage of the free hors d'oeuvres and open bar with Teresa at her side, looking a little star struck by some of the attendees and no doubt trying to think up an appropriately smooth approach to promoting her art to them. Josie had actually sweet-talked Sarah into attending the performance with her, and they'd given Rachel a lovely bouquet of irises (undoubtedly Josie's idea) to congratulate her when they'd briefly popped into her dressing room, but they'd opted out of the party because it isn't really Sarah's kind of thing—and really, putting Sarah Cartwright in a roomful of Broadway performers, producers, and enthusiasts probably isn't the best idea anyway. Her opinion on theater hasn't improved much over the years.

Actually, Rachel might be feeling just a tiny bit jealous of Sarah right now, because she's undoubtedly at home cuddled up with the woman she loves and not stuck in an uncomfortable dress and heels that pinch while she smiles her way through tedious conversations. Rachel shouldn't be feeling this way! She loves all of the attention and accolades that she's receiving for her performance—of course she does!—but she can't seem to enjoy any of it the way she should be.

Her eyes keep drifting to Quinn, who's wearing her own perfected smile and nodding along with (fake) interest to whatever is being said to her, and Rachel can't help but remember that Quinn does things like this _for her_ —stands proudly at her side and charms her costars and producers because she wants to help Rachel achieve everything she desires. It makes Rachel's guilt over impeding one of Quinn's desires rise back to the surface with the force of a volcano, and she glances away remorsefully.

Unfortunately, her eyes land on Santana, who happens to be looking in her direction at the moment. Santana offers her a smile as she lifts her glass of champagne in silent toast, and there's no reason to think it's anything but a genuine gesture of congratulations, but because Rachel knows that Santana _knows_ , she imagines it to be a silent challenge to her to stop being such a fucking coward.

It's not. Rachel _knows_ it's not. She'd spoken to Santana not long after Quinn had shared their current disagreement with her, and Santana had confirmed in her Santana-way that she doesn't think either one of them is exactly wrong in what they want.

" _I mean, I totally get why you wouldn't be ready. Kids are noisy, messy, smelly, little time-sucks_ ," Santana had told her shamelessly, making Rachel wince at the bluntness. " _But I also kinda get where Q is coming from_ ," she'd added with a casual shrug. " _The kid she popped out at sixteen is a year away from being a teenager herself. It probably makes the whole need to breed feel a little more urgent for her than it does for you or me._ "

The memory of Santana's words is still echoing in her ears when Rachel fully tunes back into the discussion around her. Her costar, Mark, had wandered over to join them in their conversation with the show's creator, Zachary, and his wife, Robin. Mark isn't exactly Rachel's favorite leading man. He's talented, obviously, and Rachel supposes he's nice enough in general, but he's been a little too fascinated by Rachel's marriage to Quinn in that way that too many men are whenever they imagine two attractive women together.

"So, Quinn," Mark says with a grin that he undoubtedly thinks is charming. "I imagine you'll be happy to finally take a break from the show now that we're officially open. I think you might have seen it more than Zach has at this point," he jokes, giving Zach a hardy pat on the back and earning a chuckle from him.

Rachel doesn't really find it overly amusing—she's proud to have Quinn in the audience to support her so often—and she feels a certain satisfaction when Quinn smiles politely and unabashedly tells Mark, "I enjoy watching Rachel perform."

"Spoken like a true stage wife," Zachary comments, sending an appreciative smile to his own wife. Robin has probably listened to every song and line of dialogue that Zachary has ever written more times than Rachel can even conceive, and the indulgent smile that she bestows on her husband is confirmation of that.

"It's nice that you have the flexibility to come see it so often though," Robin adds thoughtfully, looking back to Quinn. "You don't have to rearrange a work schedule to fit with Rachel's, and you don't have to worry about getting a sitter for any little ones on these late nights."

Rachel sucks in a quick breath as her gaze flies to Quinn. She watches the quiet pain fill in her wife's eyes, but Quinn smiles through it—frozen and polite despite the wound that Robin had unknowingly ripped open. "No. No worries there," Quinn confirms stiffly. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to use the restroom," she explains, barely waiting for an acknowledgment before she slips away.

Rachel watches her go with a lump in her throat and an ache in her heart before glancing back to her companions with a weak smile. None of them seem at all concerned with Quinn's hasty departure, and Rachel knows it's a testament to Quinn's own formidable acting skills. "I'm actually feeling a bit parched. I think I need to go get some water," she announces, needing to make her own escape so she can go check on her wife.

"Oh, by all means," Zachary encourages. "You have to take care of that golden throat."

She forces herself to smile just a little wider as she nods. "Thank you, Zachary. For everything," she adds, grateful for the opportunity that he's given her. "It truly is a wonderful show. I'm proud to be a part of it." And with a final nod, she bids them goodnight before bypassing the bar and wait staff on her way to the women's bathroom.

She pushes open the door and immediately sees Quinn, standing with her head bowed and her palms pressed to the counter surrounding the sinks.

"Quinn, are you okay?" Rachel asks softly, aware that they're not the only ones in here.

Quinn inhales deeply, squaring her shoulders as she lifts her head to meet Rachel's worried eyes. "I'm fine," she answers with a tight smile. "Just needed to use the bathroom."

She's lying, of course. Rachel knows her wife too well to believe that Robin's innocent comment hadn't affected her deeply, and she knows without a doubt that Quinn longs for them to have those little ones to worry about—little ones she'd be happily at home with right now while Rachel would be stuck here fulfilling the obligations that come with her chosen career.

A familiar ache blossoms inside of Rachel at the thought, and she sucks in a little breath. "You know, I'm incredibly tired. Why don't we go home?" They've been here nearly two hours already—that's long enough.

Quinn studies her for a long moment. "If that's what you want," she finally agrees.

"It is," Rachel confirms with a nod.

It takes them another twenty minutes to say their goodbyes and be on their way, and the ride back to their apartment is made in near silence. It isn't that Quinn is refusing to talk to her—she meets each of Rachel's tentative attempts to make conversation with a gracious (if brief) response—but the two feet between them in the backseat feels more like a thousand miles, and the distance makes Rachel want to cry.

It makes her wish she could give Quinn what she wants.

 _Not just Quinn_ , Rachel admits to herself. She wants it too. She wants to see Quinn with a child that she'll be able to keep and raise and love, and she wants to have that for herself—to be a mother who's there for her child for all of the important moments.

So why can't she take that leap of faith and just say _yes_?

The question plagues Rachel as they make their way up to their apartment, as she gives Oliver his (after) midnight snack, as she changes out of her dress and into sleep shorts and a tank top, and as she waits for Quinn to finish her own nightly routine in the bathroom. It keeps her sitting up in their bed against the headboard with the lights on until Quinn comes back into the room, looking suspiciously red-eyed, and switches off the light, only to frown when Rachel immediately snaps on the lamp beside their bed.

"Quinn? Can...can we talk?"

"About what?" Quinn asks warily.

Rachel takes a breath and draws her knees up to her chest. "The elephant-sized baby carriage that's been in the room for the last few weeks."

Quinn's shoulders sag, and she sighs raggedly. "It's really late, Rachel, and I don't particularly want to talk about this again," she dismisses coolly as she moves around the bed.

Rachel watches her turn down the sheets on her half of the mattress with a frown. "I hate feeling like you're mad at me."

Quinn's hand stills, and she looks up and into Rachel's eyes. "I'm not mad at you."

"Disappointed, then," Rachel amends.

Quinn sighs again—tired and defeated—as she glances away. "I'm trying not to be. I know you…you don't want the same things I want," she says sadly, moving her gaze back to Rachel. "I'm dealing with that, but it's not going to happen overnight, okay?"

Rachel purses her lips, digging her fingernails into her thighs as she watches Quinn begin crawl into bed next to her. "I do," she blurts out, forcing Quinn to pause with one knee on the mattress and look up at Rachel in confusion. "I do want those things, Quinn," Rachel says in a rush, shifting her legs so that she can turn toward her wife with wide, imploring eyes. "I know you think I don't because I haven't…I haven't jumped in with a thousand plans and backup plans. And you're right," she admits shakily, pushing nervous fingers through her hair. "I almost always do that when I want something. But I…I'm scared," she finally confesses with tears in her eyes. "I'm completely terrified of becoming a mother. And of everything that means."

There it is—out in the open. The simple truth with no other excuses to complicate the matter. Rachel is afraid to take this step.

Quinn exhales unevenly, sinking the rest of the way onto the mattress before collapsing back against the headboard in a position that nearly mirrors her wife. Her eyes travel curiously over Rachel's face. "Do you think I'm not scared?" she finally asks in a soft voice.

"No. No, but it's different for you, Quinn," Rachel insists, brushing away a tear. "You…you already _are_ a mother. Even having given Beth up, you still love her the same way you would if you'd been able to raise her. You know the fear and the joy and the…the sacrifice that comes with having a child of your own." In fact, Quinn has known the sacrifice far more intimately than she ever should have. "I think that's probably why you're so certain now that you want another chance to experience everything you've missed."

Quinn scoffs. "You think I want a do-over?"

Rachel runs her tongue across her lips to moisten them. "Isn't that part of it?"

"It isn't that simple," Quinn argues with a shake of her head. "I mean, _yes,_ getting a second chance at motherhood is obviously a factor," she admits, sitting up straighter against the headboard as she crosses her legs on the mattress and stares out at their dimly lit bedroom with a thoughtful frown.

"I…I hated being pregnant with Beth," she confesses quietly—remembered pain in her voice. "I was miserable and resentful and terrified. And _alone_ ," she adds with a mild scowl. "Puck said he would be there for me but he wasn't. Not when it really mattered. And maybe I _was_ pushing him away because he was the last person I wanted to be going through all of that with," she concedes with a shrug, turning her head to glance back at Rachel, "but he really sucked at being supportive."

Rachel frowns as she recalls little snippets of conversations that she'd overheard so many years ago—comments that Noah had made about Quinn's weight or her moods and Finn's remark about him still fooling around with all the cheerleaders while Quinn was carrying his child. Rachel really wishes she would have punched Puckerman right in the nose.

"So, yeah, there is a part of me…a pretty big part…that really wants the chance to experience the other side of that," Quinn continues with a soft smile blossoming on her lips. "All the joy and the happiness and hope and excitement that's supposed to come with expecting a baby with someone who loves me." Quinn shifts on the bed then, turning to face Rachel. "But I want all of that specifically with _you_ , Rach," she stresses, reaching out to clasp Rachel's hand where it rests on the mattress. "Because I love you, and I think you're the most amazing woman I've ever known, and I really want to have your babies because I know they'll be beautiful and brilliant and talented and just…so full of life and love and big plans to make the world a better place."

There's a brightness in Quinn's eyes as she speaks that hasn't been there in weeks, and it takes Rachel's breath away—or maybe that's the picture that Quinn is painting of their brilliant, talented babies. Rachel's stomach does an odd little swoop when she realizes that Quinn is actually voicing one of the fleeting, half-formed daydreams that Rachel had entertained at least once in the past—the one where Quinn is ridiculously in love with her and wants to have her multi-talented babies.

Rachel can't stop the tiny, awed smile that pulls at her lips. "When you say it like that…it all sounds so perfect," she acknowledges wistfully.

Quinn rolls her eyes, chuckling just a little as she lets go of Rachel's hand. "Oh, I know it won't be perfect. It will be messy and stressful and exhausting and, yeah, more responsibility than either of us has ever had before," she recognizes, chasing Rachel's smile into oblivion, "but it'd be so worth it," she breathes with such longing.

Rachel isn't convinced. "What if we really screw it up?" she challenges.

"We won't," Quinn promises without hesitation.

Rachel frowns at her. Quinn is supposed to be the pragmatic one between the two of them. "You can't know that."

"Neither can you," Quinn counters with a frown of her own. "Is that what you're waiting for?" she asks with growing realization in her eyes. "Some guarantee that we'll have perfect children and never make mistakes with them? Because I can pretty much guarantee that they'll be a handful," she says with an almost fond smile, "and we'll probably mess up with them more than once."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Rachel mutters, imagining all the ways they could mess up their kids—well, _her_ more than Quinn.

"Everyone is afraid of screwing up their kids, Rachel," Quinn points out wearily. "Most people don't let it stop them from becoming parents, but then I guess those people are willing to make the time to try."

Rachel can't miss the muted resentment in Quinn's words, and she shakes her head in frustration. "I know you think I'm choosing my career over having a family with you, Quinn, but you're wrong. I'm not _choosing_ it. I'm just acutely aware of what keeping it will mean," she argues doggedly, ignoring Quinn's irritated huff of protest. "And I know," she continues hurriedly before Quinn can cut in with an attempt to nullify Rachel's very valid concerns about this. "I _know_ you think that you accept all of that, and you want me to keep working. It all sounds so simple when you say it, but even if I make the time right now or next year or… or _whenever_ …for us to have a baby, eventually there'll be another role that I'll want to take or a project I'll need to do," she warns, finally pausing to take a shaky breath as she twists her fingers into the bedding beneath her. "And I'll have to be gone at ungodly hours and have no free weekends or…or I'll have to leave you and the baby to go on tour, and I'm going to miss things, Quinn. _Important_ things," she stresses frantically, feeling the sting of fresh tears threatening to fall. "First steps or first words or first days of school, and you'll be here experiencing all of those things all alone, and our child is going to wonder why…why I'm never around," she finishes with a tremor in her voice.

Quinn's entire posture seems to soften as comprehension flashes in her eyes. "Rach, sweetheart," she begins gently, reaching for Rachel's hand again. "I know there'll be times when you won't be able to be here because of some other commitment. I'm not pretending it won't be hard. It'll suck, but it won't happen all the time. I know you'll be here as much as you can be."

" _You'll_ know that," Rachel acknowledges, tugging her hand out of Quinn's grasp. "But will our child? Will they care? Or will they only care that their mother wasn't there for them?" Rachel runs the pads of her finger beneath her eyes to dry the salty trails of moisture that have slipped out with the pain of all of her imagined absences.

"Oh, Rachel," Quinn whispers sympathetically before her lips part to say something more—to undoubtedly reassure Rachel that won't happen—but Rachel hastily cuts her off.

"Look…I…I love my dads, Quinn. You know how much I love them. For the most part, they're wonderful parents, but they weren't always available the way I…I needed them to be," she reluctantly admits.

There were so many times when she'd looked for them at her recitals and performances and competitions, hoping against hope that they'd somehow managed to make it there, only to be disappointed time and time again.

"I know Hiram went back to work when you were still pretty young," Quinn murmurs in understanding.

"I was ten," Rachel confirms with a nod. She's shared a lot of things about her childhood with Quinn over the years—so many that she can't really remember what pieces she might have missed and which stories she's told more than once. Quinn never seems to stop her from talking, even when she's repeating herself. "He and Dad…they agreed that I was very mature for my age and could handle the responsibility of being home for those few hours by myself. And I had so many afterschool activities…dance classes and singing lessons," she recalls with a vague, semi-nostalgic smile. "There really weren't that many evenings when I'd be completely alone. So on the days I had lessons, I'd simply take the bus route from school that was closest to my destination and walk the rest of the way there, and Daddy would pick me up after. He was usually there on time, but some evenings he'd get tied up at the office or with a client, and I'd have to wait a little longer," she recalls, thinking of those occasions when her instructor would be the only one left—stuck impatiently waiting with Rachel until Hiram Berry pulled up with rapid apologies and a charming smile.

Quinn's expression darkens a little as she no doubt imagines the times when Rachel had been left to fend for herself. "You never told me that."

Rachel shrugs dismissively. "I suppose it never seemed overly important." And she never wants Quinn to think less of her fathers or to make them feel guilty for things that couldn't be helped and can't be changed now. "They were there whenever they could be, but they were both busy with careers that they loved, and they couldn't always get away. They made up for any missed recitals or performances with a family activity scheduled at some more convenient time or by spoiling me with whatever else I asked them for," and Rachel had learned to take advantage of that particular perk rather quickly, "so I convinced myself that it didn't really matter that they weren't always around. And when I got to high school and started coming home covered in grape slush, I was mostly relieved that they weren't there to see it."

Rachel can almost feel the guilt radiating off her wife at the bitter reminder of their past. "Oh, Rachel, sweetheart. I'm so sorry for my part in that," Quinn apologizes shamefully.

"You never actually threw one."

"I might as well have."

Rachel shakes her head dismissively, having forgiven Quinn for her past transgressions so very long ago. "My point is that I know what it's like to have parents who aren't always available when they should be," she says, getting the conversation back on track. "Even though I know my dads mostly had valid reasons," except for those few occasions when they'd flitted off on some couple's getaway in the middle of the week, "it doesn't change the way it made me feel every time I had a performance or…or just a really bad day and they weren't there to support me."

She'd felt deserted and kind of inconsequential—exposed to the judgment and ridicule of her peers without protection—and she'd wondered what was wrong with her that no one seemed to want to drop everything to proudly stand behind her. She'd hated that feeling. "And having them compensate for their lack of time with material things, like musical instruments and elaborate recording equipment, or by giving me even more freedom to do whatever I wanted didn't really help me in the long run. It just made me expect bigger rewards for being so willing to forgive them." And maybe that had also conditioned her to expect some kind of reward for so easily forgiving everyone else in her life—like unconditional love, admiration, and lifelong devotion from her friends and significant others.

"My dads were never the best with rules and discipline to begin with, and you know I've never been very good at observing boundaries. It got to the point where, even when I asked for ridiculous and potentially self-destructive things, like being permitted to marry my boyfriend at seventeen, they couldn't bring themselves to outright deny me. I don't want to make the same mistakes with my child," Rachel laments, willing Quinn to understand what she's trying to say.

"Oh, believe me, our daughter will never be permitted to marry _anyone_ like Finn Hudson," Quinn vows firmly, her lips turning down into a mild scowl, "or even get within a thousand feet of anyone like Noah Puckerman."

"I'm being serious, Quinn," Rachel chastises with a frown.

A single, blonde eyebrow arches pointedly. "So am I."

If Rachel's mind were in a different place right now, she'd probably be able to envision Quinn scaring all of their daughter's suitors away, but she can't really focus on anything outside of her own potential inadequacy as a parent. "I'm so terrified that I won't be any better than my dads in terms of being there for our child and that I'll actually be so much worse," she confesses, worrying her lip as her eyes dart away from Quinn's steady gaze. "What if I end up being an absentee mother who tries to overcompensate for it by agreeing to whatever our child wants out of guilt?"

"I won't let that happen, Rachel," Quinn promises—or she tries to, but Rachel's fears are already dragging her down another of the endless, winding corridors of her potential maternal shortcomings.

"And then there's the fact that I never had a mother figure. I certainly don't think I _needed_ a mom growing up," Rachel maintains, forever loyal to her fathers despite their flaws, "but I haven't really experienced that particular relationship in anything but a negative way. What if I'm too much like Shelby? Not that she hasn't been wonderful to Beth, of course," she quickly backtracks when she sees Quinn's frown, "but she wanted something very particular from the mother-daughter relationship that she didn't see in me."

Shelby should have loved Rachel unconditionally—she'd sought her out and spied on her in the form of Jesse St. James for Barbra's sake!—but for some reason, Rachel hadn't been enough for her.

"She wasn't able to find what she needed until after she'd sacrificed her career, and what if I'm the same? What if I'm incapable of forming that kind of bond with a child while I'm preoccupied with my own interests?" Rachel frets, twisting her hands together as her tears begin to spill over her eyelids once again. "What if I can't manage to have everything after all and my child ends up resenting me because I failed them? Because I…I ended up doing little more than _admiring her from a distance_?" she chokes out, collapsing into Quinn, who's somehow closed the distance between them and gathered Rachel into her arms.

"You're _nothing_ like Shelby, Rachel," Quinn swears fiercely. "You're right. She has been good to Beth, but it doesn't excuse what she did to you when you were fifteen. She was selfish."

"So am I," Rachel cries, clutching desperately at Quinn's sleep shirt.

"You're not. God, you're really not, sweetheart," Quinn denies, gently stroking Rachel's hair "You have to stop thinking you are just because you know what you want and aren't afraid to make it happen." Rachel feels Quinn's lips ghost her temple in a soft kiss. "You have one of the biggest hearts of anyone I've ever met, and there isn't anything you won't do for the people you love."

Rachel sniffles, rubbing at her cheeks as she lifts her head from Quinn's shoulder to meet loving, hazel eyes. "You still feel that way? Even when I've been refusing to do the one thing you want most of all?"

Quinn sighs. "It's okay to be afraid, Rachel. If you'd told me all of this before, I would have understood. I mean, I would still be disappointed," she admits honestly, "but I'm scared too. Just look at my parents. My childhood was crap," she reminds Rachel needlessly.

"I grew up with an overbearing, hypocritical, bigoted father who disowned me at sixteen when I needed him most. My mother is an alcoholic who was too meek and just," Quinn waves a frustrated hand through the air, " _out of it_ to protect me or take care of me like she should have, and my sister is a bitch. I honestly have no idea how TJ turned out to be such a great kid," she muses with a wry smile. "If anyone has a reason to be terrified that they'll repeat their parents' mistakes, it's me. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to create the family I've always longed for with you. It's our chance to get it right," she points out tenderly, "for ourselves and for our child."

Rachel swallows thickly at her wife's hopeful words, tasting the remnants of her tears. The logical part of her knows that Quinn is right, but, "I just…I keep thinking that waiting a few more years will make it…less terrifying somehow. That I'll feel more settled or…I'll somehow gain some kind of practical experience that will make me feel more capable of taking care of a child." She laughs humorlessly at her own improbable fantasy. "Like it's some role I've been preparing for, and if I can just get every nuance of it memorized, I'll be ready to perform it live. But it isn't," she concedes, shaking her head self-derisively. "I know it won't happen that way. I'll never feel prepared enough."

Quinn inhales shakily. "Are you…are you saying you'll never be ready?" she asks with a waver in her voice.

"I don't think I will be," Rachel admits slowly, "but then I think about not…not ever seeing you hold our baby in your arms, and it breaks my heart," she tells Quinn truthfully, unconsciously pressing a hand to her chest to rub at the ache that's formed there.

"Because you don't want to hurt me," Quinn reasons mournfully.

"No," Rachel denies quickly, lifting a hand to stroke Quinn's cheek. "Because I know you'll be such an amazing mother," she says with reverence. She's watched Quinn with Beth so many times, and she's seen how wonderful she is with her and with her nephew. Rachel knows in her soul that her wife would be even more loving and nurturing with a child she'd be able to raise. "Enough that my own shortcomings in that department might not matter so much."

"Oh, Rach," Quinn breathes, reaching up to cup Rachel's hand with her own. She gently pulls it away from her cheek and presses a soft, affectionate kiss to the heel of her palm. "Do you really not know how good you are with kids? You're a natural. Beth and TJ both adore you."

Rachel adores those kids too, and having Quinn tell her she's been doing okay with them means so much to her, but it's different with them. "I get to be the fun aunt with them and send them home to their mothers for all the important things," Rachel reminds her. "But I'll be responsible for taking care of all of those important things with our child. When they're sick or…or having trouble with math or getting picked on by other kids for what they're wearing," she considers with a frown, remembering her own childhood, "or for having two moms," she finishes quietly.

Quinn's eyes widen in surprise. "Are you worried about that? That our child will have to deal with the same prejudice you had to deal with growing up?"

Rachel hadn't been exactly—she would have had to have been planning out all the intricate details of their potential motherhood for that to have been one of her specific worries before this moment—but now that she's said it, she realizes that it is actually something they'll need to consider.

"I can admit that it was challenging at times, having to hear all of that…vitriol," Rachel admits sadly, "but I'm proud of my dads. And I'm proud to be married to you," she vows unabashedly. "Obviously, it will break my heart for our child to be exposed to the hatred and homophobia that sadly still exists in the world, but that's probably the one thing I actually do feel prepared to handle." And how sad is that?

"So why bring it up?" Quinn wonders.

Rachel shrugs, considering why that might have come spilling out of her mouth. She's mostly moved past her lonely and difficult childhood, but she knows that she'll always carry the emotional scars of being a social outcast because she was so very different from her peers in almost every way, and she doesn't want that for her child. That's undoubtedly one of the many factors adding to her multitude of fears, but ultimately it comes right back to the worry that she won't be there to protect her child when she should be—to build him back up when the world tries to tear him down—and that everything will fall squarely on Quinn's shoulders. And, well—Quinn hadn't exactly handled her childhood traumas in the most productive way either.

"Maybe I'm worried that _you_ don't realize how difficult it might be, especially if I'm tied up with some project and you have to deal with something particularly hurtful by yourself."

"Rachel, do you think I didn't hear what people said about you and your dads? Or what they said about me when I was pregnant?" Quinn questions with a sad laugh. "That I was a hypocritical slut and got what I deserved."

Rachel grimaces slightly because, while she hadn't ever said anything like that, she had entertained some similarly uncharitable thoughts about Quinn born of jealousy over Finn.

"I can handle it," Quinn promises. "I know we can't protect our children from every hateful thing that might be said to or about them, but we can raise them with love and acceptance and give them the tools they'll need to not only be strong in the face of adversity but thrive because of it…like your dads did for you," she adds with a warm smile that turns into a self-effacing chuckle, "and my parents _didn't_ do for me. Between us, I think we've got all the _dos_ and _don'ts_ covered," she reasons before flashing a mildly devilish grin. "And if all else fails, Santana can always teach our kids how to throw a punch and hide razorblades in their hair."

Rachel presses a hand to her mouth to stifle the unladylike snort that bursts out at the image. "Oh, God. Santana would be the worst influence."

Quinn laughs, shrugging. "In some ways," she agrees, "but you know she'd also be fiercely protective. So would Kurt. And your dads. And even my mom."

"You're trying to remind me we'd have an extensive support system to fall back on," Rachel realizes.

"We would, you know," Quinn assures her with a soft smile.

Rachel does know. They _will_ have numerous friends and family members to rely on for help when things get a little overwhelming, but as comforting as it might be to know that their child will have an extended family to enrich his or her life, it doesn't erase the possibility that Rachel's potentially erratic schedule will take her away from her family more often than she'd like.

"When I try step outside of my fear…ignore the worry that I'll be too self-involved or that I'll be an absentee parent," Rachel begins, moistening her lips as she gazes at Quinn, "I think about you…the way you are with Beth, the way your eyes light up when you look at her," she shares, smiling at the perfect vision of it dancing in her mind, "and the way you smile. It's your motherly smile," Rachel informs her matter-of-factly, sending Quinn's eyebrow up into a curious arch.

"Sometimes, when we were kids, you'd get a certain version of it," Rachel continues, "when you were helping Sam Evans with his siblings or when you were trying to comfort Mercedes and even once or twice when you were being particularly encouraging to me," she recalls fondly as she reaches for Quinn's hand, entwining their fingers together. "But it was only a shadow of the real thing. I realized that the very first time I saw you smile at Beth. I love that smile. I mean, obviously, my favorite smile is the one that's only for me," she clarifies, recognizing the beginnings of that very smile on Quinn's lips right now, "the one that makes me feel like the center of your world, but the one that's just for Beth is my second favorite. It's like a promise that everything will be okay, and she can do or be anything because she has you there to protect her from all the bad things in the world."

Quinn's eyes sparkle tellingly as she listens to Rachel describe her smiles, and when a tear slips down over her cheek, Rachel lifts a gentle hand to brush it away. Quinn laughs at her own wayward emotions while Rachel gazes at her lovingly. "I've been thinking about you smiling at another child that way," she confesses softly, "while you're tucking him or her into bed or admiring a drawing he made for you or watching her play with Oliver." Quinn sucks in a quick breath as she stares at Rachel with her heart in her eyes. "And then…then I can hear you reading some fantastic story that Judy read to you when you were a little girl…or…or maybe one you just made up on the spot," Rachel considers with an affectionate grin. Quinn would tell their child the very best stories. "Your voice will have that sweet softness to it. And I know…I _know_ …our child will be so incredibly lucky, because he or she will have you, and you'll be the best mom in the world."

Smiling tearfully, Quinn leans in and captures Rachel's lips in a sweet kiss, and when she pulls back, she rests her forehead against Rachel's, gazing into her eyes with a soft expression. "And where are you when I'm reading those stories to our kids?"

Rachel's dreamy smile falls away, and she laughs sadly, leaning away from Quinn. "Probably at the theatre."

Quinn squeezes her hand. "Do you know what I see, Rachel?" she prompts tenderly, and Rachel shakes her head, more eager than she can admit to hear her wife's vision.

"I see _you_ ," Quinn tells her adoringly. "The excitement you have for life spilling over into our child...the way you seize every moment and make it count. I see you rushing into every new experience with them like it's the most breathtaking, wonderful thing that's ever happened to anyone," she continues, her face awash with emotion. "And I can see the devoted smile on your lips while you hold them close and sing them lullabies in that perfect, quiet pitch you use whenever you're not reaching for any glory notes or belting out a solo to bring down the house. Just you, lost in a simple melody, singing our son or daughter into these fantastic dreams that you've inspired them to build."

With every word Quinn speaks, the picture in Rachel's mind becomes clearer—so bright and vivid that Rachel can almost hear herself singing that lullaby. "I…I like what you see," she murmurs softly, gazing into Quinn's beautiful eyes. "It's still a little fuzzy," Rachel concedes, "and I'm still kind of terrified, but I…I want that," she vows, and for the first time, she realizes that her fears—while still very much present—are outweighed by the longing she feels to experience everything that Quinn is describing. Instead of focusing on all of the things that she might mess up or miss out on, she's starting to imagine all the wonderful moments she'll be there to share with Quinn and their child. "I want it for you. And…and for me."

Quinn draws in a breath, seeming to hold it for a moment as her eyes roam over Rachel's face with unconcealed yearning. "What exactly does that mean?" she finally asks cautiously—almost as if she's afraid to hope.

Rachel licks her lips, swallowing down her fears. "That you're right. There's never going to be a perfect time, and I'm probably never going to feel like I'm completely ready, but…we…we should make a plan," she declares with a firm nod. "I'm good at plans. And, I mean, we'll have to talk to your doctor and find an accredited clinic and…and probably…you know…figure out the whole donor side of it. That might take some time," Rachel realizes with a small frown, "to…to pick someone we can agree on who looks at least a little bit like me."

She definitely won't be disappointed that their child will look more like Quinn than her, but maybe if they get a donor with dark hair, people won't be as likely to mistake Rachel for the nanny when they're out and about.

"Do you mean that?" Quinn asks breathlessly, tightly gripping Rachel's hand. "Do you really want to do this? Or are you just giving in because I want it so much?"

"Honestly?"

"That's the only way this works, Rachel."

"Maybe a little of both," Rachel admits, frowning when Quinn sags in disappointment and tries to withdraw her hand. Rachel stops her with a firm grip. "I can't help it, Quinn. I'm still scared for all the reasons I told you. That isn't going to just go away overnight, but I want that future," she insists, "the one with you smiling at our child and reading stories and…and me singing lullabies. Although you'll be singing a few too, and we'll obviously sing some together," she rambles, her lips quirking when she sees the rebirth of Quinn's brilliant smile—the one that's just for Rachel.

"But my point is," Rachel continues determinedly, "I don't give up on the things I want, and I've been giving up on this without even trying because I'm afraid to fail. The last time I did that," she pauses, shaking her head sadly as she recalls all the doubts about her future in New York that had led her to accept Finn Hudson's proposal and nearly get Quinn killed on the way to her foolhardy, teenaged wedding, "well, it didn't turn out well for anyone. That's not the example I want to set for our future child."

Quinn's eyes are filled to the brim with happy tears. "So…are we agreeing to start a family?" she asks cautiously.

Rachel inhales deeply, considering the weight of her answer as she offers her wife a shy grin. "Yeah. Yeah, I think we are."

Before Rachel knows what hit her, she's toppled back onto the mattress—nearly falling off the bed—with Quinn's body pressed against her as she's kissed with enthusiasm. Her hands instinctively clutch at Quinn's sleep shirt, and she opens her mouth and kisses her wife back with everything she has. Lord, how she's missed this!

All-too-soon, Quinn's lips stray from Rachel's mouth and begin to pepper little kisses to her cheeks and chin and temples, and Rachel can feel the smile in each and every one. "I really love you," Quinn murmurs between kisses.

Rachel's eyes fall closed as she holds Quinn tighter. "I love you too. So much."

Enough to put her trust in Quinn—in _them_ —and take that leap of faith. She's still afraid of everything she might do wrong, but something warm and hopeful seems to settle inside of her with her decision, and she feels like they can really do this together. They can have their family and each other and their careers, and everything will be beautiful.

Eventually.

* * *

 **A/N:** I decided to end this one at part two, but there will be a little more by way of family planning in the form another, less angsty installment. Stay tuned.


End file.
